Final Breath
by TriStateCopFan
Summary: Bobby deals with Alex's death. STORY IS COMPLETE 12 chapters
1. Default Chapter

1I claim no right, title or interest to the LO:CI characters. Darn it.

**Final Breath**

Another hour had passed. His vigil had lasted for days. There was no way he was leaving her side. He was numb – oblivious to his body's hunger, thirst and exhaustion.

The warning had just been given a week earlier, when a S.W.A.T. raid in Brooklyn uncovered a cache of hollow points... "cop killers." Thousands of rounds had been seized and, in all probability, thousands still on the street.

It took only one. So much damage had been done to her petite body.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing assuring him that she was still there.

He had been holding her dainty hand for hours, their fingers and palms almost fused together by the power of his desire to somehow transfer his strength...his life force...into her small frame.

He prayed his silent prayer for what seemed like the millionth time, holding on to all hope that he would receive the miracle he so desperately needed.

And then it came.

The sound he dreaded.

No longer a rhythmic beep, but a steady, monotone drone.

He whimpered, "No."

He begged, "Please? No."

He pleaded, "Oh God, PLEASE, NNNNNOOOOOOOO!"

He implored, "NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

It was a primal scream.

He was gasping for air; his chest heaving, throat raw and burning, eyes stinging from tears. He clutched her lifeless body, laying his head on her chest, sobbing with uncontrollable spasms.

"I love you...i love you...i love you...please...you promised you'd never leave me..."

He became still.

"I know it's not your fault...you didn't mean to leave me...it'll be all right...I'll come with YOU."

End Chpt. 1.


	2. Observation

1Deakins bolted from his office the very second he got the call. He was reeling from the news of having lost Eames; pissed off that they still had no leads on who the trigger man was and that the nut job was still out on the streets. Now this: Goren. Grieving would have to wait.

He arrived at the hospital, mechanically making his way to the 4th floor I.C.U. It was his tenth trip there, in as many days. As the elevator doors opened, he immediately sensed the tension and excited "buzzing" of the staff. His pace quickened -almost to a full jog- as he approached the nurses' station.

"Where's my detective?" The nurse, interrupted from her paperwork, looked up at him. "Are you Capt. Deakins?"

"Yeah, I'm Deakins, where's Detective Goren?" he demanded more than asked; eyes darting around the busy hallways looking for Bobby.

The nurse rose from her desk and leaned towards Deakins, lowering her voice. "Your...detective is on the 8th floor. Dr. Rizzo is waiting for you in his office – it's the 3rd door on the left when you exit the elevator." The nurse raised her eyebrows, eyes shifting around, surveying the damage in the corridor.

Deakins had been oblivious to it when he arrived; he was intent only on finding Bobby.

Then it registered. He saw the toppled carts and chairs; he saw the maintenance crew cleaning up the shattered glass; he still heard the buzzing of the gossipers.

Deakins looked back at the nurse, his face full of concern, apology, worry...fear. "The 8th floor? That's the psychiatric unit?

The nurse nodded, "Yes." Her face, now softened with empathy for the distraught figure before her. "Your detective had to be sedated – he's under suicide watch. Dr. Rizzo will explain everything." She gave Deakins a slight smile, hoping to alleviate his worry, if only minutely.

Deakins nodded a silent "Thank you" and headed back to the elevator.

As the doors opened, Carver began to take a step out but, upon seeing Deakins, stopped.

Carver reached out and placed a hand on Deakins' shoulder. "Captain, I am so sorry..."

Deakins nodded, "I know...thanks...but we've got another problem," Deakins said as he pushed the "8" button. Carver looked at him, puzzled both as to what the other problem was and why they were now headed to the 8th floor and not back to the lobby.

Deakins faced forward, staring at the elevator doors. "It's Goren."

Carver didn't have to be told what unit was on the 8th floor. "This can't be good," he sighed.

End. Chpt. 2


	3. Information

1The door to Dr. Rizzo's office was slightly ajar, but Deakins knocked before opening it. The doctor looked up from his desk.

"Yes, may I help you?"

Deakins and Carver entered, Deakins extending his hand to the doctor. "I'm Capt. James Deakins." Carver followed in kind, "Ron Carver, District Attorney's Office."

"Vincent Rizzo...Chief of Psychiatry." The doctor looked at both men curiously, some question in his face. He offered them each a seat as he lowered himself into his leather Recaro chair. "There was no need to bring counsel, Captain," he said with a half smile. "The hospital doesn't have any intention of bringing a property damage claim against the Department for your Detective's actions." He said it with a slight chuckle– an attempt to put Deakins and Carver at ease.

Carver smiled: "We appreciate that position doctor, but I'm not here in my official capacity...I'm here as a...

Deakins attempted to finish Carver's sentence: "friend," he chimed in as Carver simultaneously said "colleague."

Deakins shot him a glace and Carver returned one of his own.

Deakins thought to himself, "should've known better than to interrupt Carver...or ANY lawyer, for that matter." He began "sizing up" Rizzo. He was a handsome man, mid 50's, black hair-salt & pepper at the temples; designer suit– Hugo Boss, he'd guess, Geoffrey Beane tie, gold cufflinks...couldn't see the shoes hidden under the desk. Deakins already noticed the chair– those Recaro office chairs go for upwards of $1,500 a piece. The Doctor's walls were as "well dressed" as he himself was. Deakins took note of the dozen or so diplomas, degrees and awards that were perfectly mounted and framed. His observations helped him feel a little more confident that Bobby was in good hands.

Carver had noticed Deakins' eyes darting around– trying to be nonchalant in his mind's silent investigation of Dr. Rizzo. Carver laughed inwardly, "you can't take the detective out of the boy..."

All of these thoughts and observations had taken mere seconds – little bits flashing through Deakins' eyes and now permanently committed to memory.

The Captain leaned forward in his chair, "So, Doctor...you wanna' fill me in on what went on here?"

Dr. Rizzo began, "What I'm about to say isn't from first-hand observation. It was reported to me by the staff on the 4th floor. The nurses at the station heard the alarm sound from the patient's..." he flipped through papers in his file, searching for the name...

"Detective Eames' room," Deakins offered.

Rizzo continued, "yes, Alexandra Eames' room. I'm sorry for your loss, by the way. The alarm is directly connected to the heart monitor. They rushed to the room and found...Detective Goren by the bed. One nurse, uhhh, Nurse Longo, well, when she entered the room, she heard the tail-end of something that Detective Goren was saying...something like he wanted to go with her..."

Deakins and Carver exchanged knowing glances.

"Nurse Longo said that Detective Goren was...extremely upset...agitated...distraught... she thought that Goren was leaving the bedside to give access to the hospital staff, she said he grabbed for his suit jacket...she saw his badge...the jacket fell to the floor...then the nurse said it became apparent to her that Detective Goren was reaching for the holster that had been underneath the jacket. She yelled to the other nurse in the room...ummm, Nurse King...two orderlies rushed in and...um...tackled Detective Goren while he was bent down trying to pick up the holster. They told the nurses to get more orderlies or the security guard, 'cause the women wouldn't be of any help in restraining him."

The doctor paused. Deakins pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and let out a sigh. "Continue, doctor"

"Well, two more orderlies arrived and assisted, security arrived – it took all five men to get Detective Goren under control. He's uh...quite a big, strong guy; they had to get him out of the room – away from the patient. Nurse Longo said he was screaming, fighting...kicking all the way.

Umm, I'm not sure if you're aware, gentlemen, but Ms. Eames had a DNR Order on file and had a signed organ donor card. Time WAS of the essence."

Deakins nodded his understanding, but wanted to get back to the matter at hand: Bobby. "What was he screaming..do you know?"

The doctor rifled through his notes, "Uhmmm, let's see if Nurse Longo reports that...yes, here: 'get off me, let me go' 'you can't take her' 'please don't take her away.' She reports shortly after that, (and after kicking out the glass window of the lounge) he collapsed onto his knees–there was no more fight left in him. He was sobbing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth...saying 'I'm all alone," 'I just wanna' die' over and over again...then he tried to reach for one of the shards of glass."

Carver sat listening to the details, trying to distance himself emotionally. Maybe if he could treat this like a deposition or some other Court proceeding -- pretend to just be listening to the facts of a random case – it would quell the churning in his stomach. It didn't work. He gut was in a knot.

"That's why," Dr. Rizzo continued, "we found it necessary to sedate him and hold him for observation."

Deakins ran a hand through his silver hair, "Can we see him?"

Dr. Rizzo knew there would be no real point to seeing him, other than possibly making Deakins and Carver feel better; Detective Goren wouldn't even know they were there – he'd be "out" for hours.

Dr. Rizzo rose from his seat, slid open a small panel on the wall and began spinning the tumbler of his wall safe. "I'll allow you to look in on him. If you don't mind, Captain?" he said, gesturing towards Deakins sidearm, "...no weapons allowed on the ward." Deakins removed the Glock from its holster and placed it in the safe, which the doctor quickly closed.

Carver and Deakins passed through the doorway, each thanking the doctor for his time and for allowing them to see Bobby.

They walked down the hall, three astride, toward the locked psychiatric unit; Deakins looking down, Carving noticing and thinking what a toll the events of the day must be taking on the Captain.

Deakins added to his mental notes, "Kenneth Cole shoes."

End. Chpt. 3


	4. Confinement

1**Confinement**

The three men approached the double steel doors of the unit, but only two of them were experiencing a nervous sense for foreboding. Dr. Rizzo swiped his key card through the security sensor and the heavy doors swung open.

Deakins and Carver surveyed the long corridor before them: locked steel doors, each with a one-foot square window, lined both sides of the hallway — ominous and aesthetically out of place in contrast to the tasteful decor of the of the walls and floor, all done in eye-pleasing pastels. Carver thought to himself, "Calming decor to counteract the mental chaos going on behind each of those doors."

Dr. Rizzo interrupted, "It's the last door on the right, gentlemen."

Upon arriving at Bobby's room, Carver and Deakins both tried to steal an un-obvious peek through the small window, hoping to prepare themselves for what they were about to see. Neither man liked surprises.

As Dr. Rizzo punched in the room access code on the small keypad next to the door, he tried to reassure Deakins and Carver. "Don't let the sight of the restraints bother you, gentlemen. They're not too tight – they're not hurting him. They're to keep our staff safe until we're better able to access his demeanor once he comes to."

Deakins and Carver looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. They each took a deep breath before entering the room. Dr. Rizzo remained in the doorway; Deakins couldn't imagine why–it wasn't as if Bobby was going anywhere– so he correctly surmised that the psychiatrist was merely there to observe his and Carver's reactions.

Carver remained steps back from the bedside, but Deakins stood close. He put his right hand on Bobby's forehead and stroked back his hair, still damp from perspiring during the horrific ordeal he'd gone through. Deakins whispered an almost inaudible, "Awww...Bobby." Looking down at Bobby's face, Deakins couldn't help but notice the streaks left from tears– the redness around the rims of his eyes, only partially hidden by his long brown lashes. Deakins was still stroking his hair and, again, whispered, "We'll take care of you, Bobby."

As Deakins turned from the bedside, he was almost startled–and embarrassed–having momentarily forgotten that Carver and Dr. Rizzo were watching. He cleared his throat, "Thanks, Doctor...you'll let me know once he's awake?"

The three of them left the room; Deakins taking once last glance over his shoulder.

As they headed back down the hall, Dr. Rizzo asked, "Is there any family, loved ones...a 'significant other' whom we should contact?"

Deakins looked at Carver. They both knew the answer but Deakins was the one who verbalized it. "No, Doctor. His mother recently passed away; there's a brother–very distant–they rarely, if ever, keep in touch, so, I'm afraid we're it." The answer that Deakins really wanted to give was the truthful one, but this was no time for sarcasm, so he mockingly said it to himself, instead: "No Doctor, he lost **that** person this afternoon. That's how he ended up here in your nut ward."

The Doctor nodded. "I'll mark you down in his file as the contact person, then."

They returned to Dr. Rizzo's office so that Deakins could retrieve his weapon from the Doctor's safe. As Deakins and Carver left, Dr. Rizzo sat at his desk and opened Bobby's file.

The Doctor began making notations: "Met with patient's commanding officer, Capt. James Deakins, accompanied by a Mr. Carver of the District Attorney's office...briefed both on patient's current status...permission granted to visit patient...Carver -remained several steps away from bed; no interaction with patient...stoic...Capt. Deakins approached bed...interaction with patient... gently stroked patient's head and whispered words of reassurance; definite display of paternal and/or elder-sibling type instincts for patient...sincere. Carver– identified self as "colleague;" I concur. Deakins– "friend." I concur."

Carver and Deakins exited the hospital, heading towards the parking lot. Both had been silent, lost in their own thoughts. As Carver approached his car, he turned to Deakins, "Feel like joining me for a drink, Captain? You look like you could use one."

Deakins shook his head, "No, thank you Mr. Carver. I've gotta' head over to Eames' parents' house."

Carver gave him a solemn look, "I don't envy you the task, Captain. Please relay my condolences."

Each entered his respective vehicle, Carver heading for a scotch & soda at Carucci's. Deakins wishing he was.

End. Chpt. 4


	5. Broken Heart, Fragile Mind

1Before beginning this chapter, I'd like to give a shout out to those who took the time to review. I appreciate the feedback. As you all know, posting stories here is an effort of love– of the show, its characters and just writing, in general. You all know the investment of time required and the trials and tribulations of the thought process to actually get something down "on paper." So, BIG thanks to: Lina-Baggins, The X-Pig, justawriter, Sw33tangelgrl, 08Starbaby08.

An interesting fact (well, to ME, anyway ;-) - This is the 6th story I've post on FanFiction. My other stories have "hits" numbering anywhere from "3" to "18." As of the time of this writing, THIS story has 661 "hits." ! So, either my five other pieces really stink, or this one is really good! LOL

Again, "thanks" to those of you who take the time to review. It's a great (and sometimes my only) incentive to keep on going and get that next chapter out.

Broken Heart, Fragile Mind

Bobby struggled himself to consciousness, fighting off the effects of the sedating medication that had been injected the evening before.

He willed his eyelids to open, but they wouldn't. He was uncomfortable, needing to stretch and roll over, but he couldn't.

Thoughts began flashing through his mind as he became more alert. Were they memories of a terrible nightmare or the truths of an even more terrible reality. He couldn't summon enough clarity in his mind to discern.

His eyelids fluttered momentarily, but nothing would come into focus. He laid still, now using his ears and that infamous nose to gather information: clean, sterile air...antiseptic...muffled voices, activity–peoples' footsteps, phones ringing, loudspeaker paging doctors. He spoke to himself, somehow finding comfort in putting the pieces together, "I must've been in a car accident, or shot...I'm in a hospital." He began taking inventory, "I can feel my legs, my arms, move my toes and fingers, turn my head...I'm not paralyzed...I'm all right...there's no oxygen on my face...no heart monitor beeping..." He froze at the thought.

"Oh God...the monitor stopped beeping. It wasn't a dream...it was real." Tears once again welled up in his eyes. It all came rushing back. Raw wounds to his heart and mind. The sickening reality overwhelmed him, panic set in, adrenaline surging, finally enabling him to force his eyes open. He looked around the room: nothing. ..nothing but the bed he was in...strapped in. The tears made Bobby's vision blurry, so he tried turning his head, attempting to wipe his eyes on his shoulders, but couldn't reach. He laid his head back down and began sobbing – uncontrollable, mournful sobbing. He cried at the pain of losing Alex, the thought of never again seeing her smile or hearing her voice; he cried for himself – and felt guilty for being selfish – but he couldn't stop.

Dr. Rizzo had arrived early that morning to attend to his normal rounds but, especially, to check on the status of Detective Goren. Rizzo had spent the better part of the previous evening going through Bobby's personnel file – everything from his first rookie assignment right up through 11 days ago. The doctor took special note of Bobby's medical/personal history and the regulatory "fitness for duty" psych evaluations. He was quite impressed and definitely intrigued by his new patient.

The doctor peered through the small window in the door of Bobby's room and saw that Bobby was awake; he was coughing from the tears and phlegm caused by his latest crying jag. Dr. Rizzo grabbed the box of Kleenex from the corner of the nurses' station and punched in the combination on the lock of Bobby's room.

Deakins awoke that morning after a fitful night of tossing and turning. He felt like hell. The only good thing that had happened to him yesterday was the stiff drink and the hug that his wife had for him upon his arrival home. He felt a headache coming on and it was only 7:15 a.m.

His wife had asked him if he wanted breakfast, but he declined, "Just some coffee, hon. I wanna' get back over to the hospital and check on Bobby before I head to the office."

As he drove towards the city, a hundred thoughts swirled through his mind. He silently went through his mental list: "First, how's Bobby? I hope that no media got hold of any information about what had happened at the hospital yesterday...I doubt it, but you never know who's watching; second, Eames' family and the funeral arrangements; third, the status of the hunt for the gunman...I wanna' nail that bastard; fourth..."

Bobby heard the door handle move and tried to look through bleary eyes at the figure that had entered the room.

"Good morning, Detective Goren. I'm Doctor Rizzo. How are you feeling today?" The doctor approached the beside and gave Bobby a small smile, as he took some Kleenex, dabbed Bobby's eyes and wiped his nose and upper lip, where tears and mucous had been running.

Bobby turned his face away–partially in protest and partially in embarrassment.

"Well," the Doctor continued, "You've been through quite an ordeal. Do you remember any of it?"

The thought process of answering sped through Bobby's mind. Bobby looked at the doctor, pretending to still be blinking away tears. He didn't want to show anger, contempt or any other negative emotion. He knew how to play the psychology game; he quickly went through his emotional-response Rolodex —just as he had once advised "Chops" to do–– looking for an appropriate response that the doctor would find suitable. After all, Bobby surmised, if this is the guy who has the final say as to when I get out of these damn restraints and this hospital, I'm gonna' give him my best performance.

Bobby decided and said to himself, "sad, vulnerable, apologetic, remorseful for my actions...yeah, those'll do."

"Y-yes, doctor, I remember," he said, letting out a heavy sigh; "I'm so sorry for making a spectacle of myself...and for the trouble I've caused."

"I'm very sorry for your loss. I know it's a very traumatic thing."

Bobby looked up at Dr. Rizzo, giving him the best, sad brown eyes he could muster. "Thank you." Bobby made an obvious point of raising his head to view the restraints around his wrists and ankles; he tried to shift his torso, attempting to find a comfortable position, making the doctor notice the discomfort of his situation. Of course, the doctor did.

"I bet you're a little stiff...you were...sleeping for about 12 hours."

Bobby forced a friendly tone...he was in no mood for this banter, but if that's what it was going to take to get him out of here, he'd play along. "I didn't know I was out for that long...I'd just love to stretch and get a washcloth for my face...use the restroom."

Dr. Rizzo smiled. Bobby thought he made a breakthrough. The doctor stepped closer to the bed and looked Bobby straight in the eyes, "I was up most of the night reading your file, Detective Goren. I'll have a nurse bring a warm washcloth...and a urinal."

Bobby sank back into the bed. Defeated.

End. Chpt. 5


	6. Healing

1**Healing**

The nurse entered the room with a warm face cloth, a hand towel and the urinal. "Rizzo wasn't joking," Bobby conceded, "At least it's a male nurse." Rizzo took several steps back, observing Bobby's demeanor and how he would treat the nurse. The nurse went about his business professionally– matter-of-factly, making Bobby feel a little less self conscious. Bobby thanked him as he exited the room.

Dr. Rizzo stood, observing his patient. "That was IT, Detective."

Bobby turned his head slightly; the doctor could see the question in his eyes.

"The right response," Rizzo continued; "defeat. Now, how about surrender? I'm here to help you, Detective. I'm not the enemy."

Bobby remained silent, but there was no question that the doctor had his full attention.

Rizzo half-sat on the edge of the bed. "So, how about answering my first question? How are you feeling today?"

Bobby shut his eyes and let out a long sigh. His eyes opened, looking at the ceiling above him. "I feel...tired...helpless...I–I'm uncomfortable...sad...empty...I, I'm feeling a thousand things and nothing...um, kinda' numb...I d-don't know what else..." They were truthful answers.

"Suicidal?" Rizzo bluntly asked.

Bobby furrowed his brow, "no."

"Homicidal?"

Bobby looked at Rizzo. Obviously, this guy was good–he had already demonstrated that he could read Bobby, so why bother lying. Bobby looked Dr. Rizzo in the eyes, "maybe."

Rizzo appreciated the honesty of the answer. "I understand that...it's a normal reaction...wanting revenge against the person who did this to you–who took the life of your partner. Is that the only person towards whom you feel that way?"

Bobby nodded his head affirmatively.

"We're making progress here, Detective. Is it all right if I call you Robert? Or do you prefer Bobby?"

Bobby knew this game – try to make it personal – establish a rapport. He didn't fault the doctor for it. It was his job. And if Bobby was gonna' be honest with Rizzo and, more importantly, himself, what was the harm? He already realized that just being able to talk with someone was making him feel better– despite still feeling somewhat like a tethered animal– and he reminded himself that he needed to get on Rizzo's good side.

"Whatever you like...Bobby's fine with me."

"I spent hours last night, Bobby, reviewing your file. You have quite an exemplary record...in the military and in the Police Department...interesting conflicts you've placed yourself in, in your life choices."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

"Well, your psychological profile alludes to rebellion against authority figures, yet you chose to place yourself in two situations where you'd be forced to deal with it...chain-of-command organizations where you're forced to answer to authority every day. Why do you think you did that?"

"To try to make up for the lack of an authoritative father figure in my childhood, I suppose," he answered, looking Rizzo directly in the eyes. "They say children like authority, discipline, whether they want to admit it, or not."

Rizzo nodded, but raised his eyebrows as he stated to Bobby, "But you're not a child."

Bobby cocked his head to one side, "I know. Or maybe I just like testing myself to see how much BS I can take."

Rizzo admired Bobby for his candor. This man was obviously in touch with his feelings, and the fact that he was giving honest answers was a good indicator that he was ready to accept help and begin the healing process.

"Would you like to talk about your mother?" Rizzo asked.

"What about her?" Bobby retorted, noticing the hint of hostility in his own voice. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way and hoped Rizzo hadn't noticed.

Of course, Rizzo did. He heard the "edge" in his voice...the defensiveness. He made a mental note: "patient has no difficulty expressing negatively about father figure; defends mother."

Rizzo decided another approach would be better. "You were probably concerned for many years as to whether symptoms of her illness would present in you. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Bobby nodded.

"Well," the doctor continued, "we both know you're well past the age where symptoms would have manifested. You um, you probably felt more relieved with each passing birthday...each year you got through unscathed."

Bobby nodded again; he tried to stifle a yawn; "excuse me...I'm tired."

"That's okay. Bobby? If I were to remove those restraints, what would you do?"

"I'd um, I'd like to stretch an...and turn on my side..I s-sleep on my side."

"I'd like to be able to make you more comfortable, Bobby. You realize that those restraints weren't to punish you...they're to keep my staff and myself safe."

"I know that...I don't blame you...I was...out of control last night. I'm not gonna' hurt anyone...not even myself," he answered Rizzo almost sheepishly.

"I believe you. There are no blemishes on your record...no excessive force complaints...nothing to indicate you have a propensity for violence...quite the contrary, it seems your favorite 'weapon' is your brain...you'd rather do battle with your wits than with your fists or gun, any day."

Bobby nodded, giving the doctor one his breathy chuckles.

"I'd like to give you a pill..."

Bobby protested.

"I'm gonna' have to insist, Bobby. Don't worry...it won't be anything like yesterday...just a mild, low dose of Valium. It'll keep you calm..it won't make you sleep, but it'll help you sleep."

Bobby blinked...holding his eyelids closed for a few seconds, letting out a soft sigh, he nodded his head in acquiescence. He thought to himself in exasperation, "Rizzo 2, Goren 0."

Dr. Rizzo stepped out of the room momentarily to ask the nurse to bring the meds. The same nurse as before accompanied the doctor back in the room - each man on either side, and they began undoing the restraints at his wrists.

Bobby couldn't wait to sit up and stretch...arch the aches out of his back. He sat, flexing his wrists and elbows, rolling his shoulders.

The nurse handed Bobby the pill and a small cup of water. Dr. Rizzo nodded toward at him, "Go ahead."

Bobby placed the pill in his mouth and gulped the water. He had been thirsty; the coolness felt wonderful in his throat.

"Paul," Rizzo addressed the nurse, "would you bring Mr. Goren another cup of water?"

Bobby glanced down at his ankles, still bound. He looked at Dr. Rizzo, "Ar-aren't you taking those off?"

Rizzo assured him, "Don't worry...Paul will be back in a second. Then we'll get you settled in. Would you like another pillow or blanket?

"Another pillow, please."

Rizzo continued, "I know, Bobby, you probably don't feel like eating, but it's important to keep your strength up. I'm gonna' give you my pad and I want you to write down a few choices...something you feel like your stomach could manage, okay? ...and I'll check with the kitchen."

Paul returned with the water and placed it by the bedside, exiting quickly. Bobby handed the pad back to Dr. Rizzo, who proceeded to the foot of the bed and undid the straps around Bobby's ankles. He retrieved another pillow and, instead of handing it to Bobby, fluffed it and put it at the head of the bed.

"One more thing, Bobby...would you mind opening your mouth?" It wasn't really a question.

Bobby knew the drill. He opened wide, giving the doctor the proof he wanted.

"Good boy. You get some rest now. I'll look in on you in a bit."

Bobby nodded, "Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome. I know your Captain will be relieved next time he sees you. I don't think he liked those restraints any better than you did."

Bobby looked at him, bewildered, "Captain Deakins was here? When?"

"Last evening...with a Mr. Carver. The Captain was quite worried about you." Rizzo got the feeling that worrying about Goren wasn't a new experience for Deakins.

Rizzo left, locking the door behind him. He looked through the window, observing Bobby as he took the fresh pillow from behind him, held it against his chest and curled on his side in a fetal position. He thought to himself, "Truthful about his sleep position...people that don't lie about the little things usually don't lie about the big ones." He took it as good sign.

Bobby inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking comfort in his semi-freedom...the coolness of the pillow against his cheek. But, now that Rizzo was gone, his thoughts returned to Alex. His mind began racing with memories...and questions...he couldn't help the morbid thoughts from infiltrating his mind: "where is she? what had they done to her body? what organs did they harvest? ...flashes of bodies he'd seen at the morgue...now his Alex looking like that. He tried to force the images from his mind's eye, but to no avail. Another wave of sobbing overtook him, his grief almost palpable. His stomach ached. His chest ached. His heart ached. "It's normal to feel this way...it's part of the healing process...I have to deal with this," trying to reassure himself...his sanity...with is own words. He cried himself to sleep, drifting off...hugging the pillow that he wished was Alex.

Rizzo headed down the busy corridor towards his office. He took the notepad from his breast pocket and flipped to the page where Bobby had written, a smile overtaking his lips as he read the neat printing: "Peanut butter and jelly...chocolate milk. "Childhood comfort food," he thought to himself amusingly, realizing his growing, genuine fondness for this new man/child of a patient. His thoughts continued, "I'm only 9 years older than this patient...he chuckled at his own soft heart...now I know where Deakins is coming from."

When he reached his office, he called the Dietary Department.

End. Chpt. 6


	7. Road To Recovery

1**A/N: Again, thanks to all who reviewed. It's much appreciated. This chapter still deals with Bobby's hospitalization. I know it can sometimes be as tedious to read dialogue as it is to write it, but I think it's necessary for the proper development of the story and the level of bonding that I want Bobby to reach w/ Dr. Rizzo. (After all, Bobby's only been the hospital one night – I know we all want him to get well, but it can't happen that fast. :-)**

Deakins' head was throbbing. His usual ½ hour commute had turned into almost and hour and a half, thanks to the idiot who tried to take his 14' tractor trailer through a 13' 9" underpass. What added to his aggravation was his inability to get through to Dr. Rizzo. He had called three times, only to be told that the doctor was making his morning rounds. Deakins wondered if Bobby was among the patients he was seeing and how is detective was doing. He was only two blocks from the hospital when he cell phone rang.

"Deakins."

"Good morning, Captain Deakins, Dr. Rizzo returning your call."

"How's Bobby, doctor? I'm just about a block away."

"Good. Why don't you come right up to see me and I'll give you an update."

"I'll be there in 10." Deakins hung up, navigated his way around a double-parked car and made his way to the parking garage.

A nurse was exiting Rizzo's office as Deakins arrived. The doctor rose from his desk and extended his hand. "Good morning...again."

"G'morning. So, how is he?"

Rizzo placed a hand on Deakins' shoulder. "C'mon, we'll look in on him." Deakins wasn't sure how he felt about the invitation. On one had, he liked seeing things for himself; on the other, the sight of Bobby in that condition, in the restraints, unsettled him. They reached to door to Bobby's room and Rizzo gestured for Deakins to have a look.

Deakins saw Bobby sleeping peacefully, on his side, his left arm slung over the pillow. He turned to look at Rizzo – Rizzo could see the relief on his face. "The restraints are off?"

Rizzo nodded and smiled. Yes, I took them off this morning. Bobby and I had a nice long talk..almost an hour, and I felt they were no longer necessary.

"Let's go back to my office and talk," Rizzo said, as he put his hand lightly on Deakins' back.

As they walked down the hall, Rizzo caught a sideways glance of Deakins rubbing his temple. "Headache already, Captain?"

Deakins shrugged. "I don't know if it's a new one, or a continuation of yesterday's," he joked.

Once back in Rizzo's office, the doctor poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his credenza and produced a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol from his desk drawer. He offered them to Deakins, "Here, these should help." Deakins took two capsules and gulped them down with the water, thinking to himself, "Glad it wasn't Nycedrol."

"So," Rizzo began, "Without violating any patient confidentiality, let me give you an update. I checked on Bobby first thing this morning." Rizzo noticed expression. He continued, "He gave me permission to call him that. Anyway, he was responsive, coherent, cooperative, all his vital's good. He's feeling the effects of his grief deeply – it's going to take a while."

Deakins questioned, "But he's okay...he's not..."

Rizzo answered the question before it was asked. "No, in my opinion, he's not suicidal. It was just the grief...the emotional pain he was feeling made him act out."

Deakins sighed, "Well, that's a relief. When's he getting discharged?"

Rizzo sat forward, folding his hands on the desk. "State law mandates that patients admitted under a suicide watch must be observed for a minimum of 72 hours. I'm going to move him to a different room once he wakes up – it'll be more comfortable for him. We'll get him something to eat and I plan to spend some more time with him later."

Deakins pushed his chair back to rise. "Do yo mind if I look in on him again? Maybe he's awake now."

Rizzo stood, but hesitated. "If he is awake, I'll have to ask him if he wants to have a visitor."

Deakins nodded, "I understand."

Bobby had just begun to stir; rolling onto his back and stretching his lengthy limbs with a yawn and a groan. He laid still and assessed himself. He felt better after his nap. It was a dreamless sleep, free of the horrible images that had tormented him the previous night.

The doctor looked in the window and watched as Bobby ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He nodded at Deakins, "He's awake. Just give me a minute." Deakins nodded in agreement.

Dr. Rizzo entered the room. "How're you feeling?"

Bobby sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Rizzo stood before him; "You feel up to seeing someone?"

Bobby's eyes met his. "Who?", he asked, with some trepidation.

"Your Captain."

Bobby looked down at the floor. "Is Carver with him?"

Rizzo shook his head, "No, he's alone." Bobby nodded affirmatively.

Rizzo touched his shoulder, "I'll be right back. I'm going to have Captain Deakins wait for you in your new accommodations." He noticed Bobby's inquiring look. "A room across the hall – it'll be more comfortable."

Deakins sat alone in the room, "Not bad," he thought to himself. "Built-in cabinets, table, chairs, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, full size bed...pictures." He opened the door to the bathroom and nodded his head in approval, "nice...tile...shower stall."

Rizzo crouched and reached under the bed, producing a pair of slippers. Bobby expected Rizzo to hand the slippers to him but, instead, Rizzo held Bobby's ankle and placed the slippers on his feet, first the left, then the right. The gesture made Bobby feel both uncomfortable and comforted at the same time. He felt self conscious at being taken care of – – as if he were a child, yet a part of him liked it. He had a momentary memory of his mother tying his sneakers when he was little boy. He looked bashfully at Rizzo, "Th-thank you."

Rizzo stood, "No problem...you ready?" Bobby shook his head yes.

They began their trek across the hall, Bobby feeling conspicuous in his hospital pajamas. He realized his embarrassment was self imposed; none of the staff had even given him a second look.

Rizzo opened the door for Bobby, "I'll leave you two men alone." The comment didn't escape Bobby's notice. He thought to himself, "Two minutes ago he's putting my slippers on like I'm a kid...now he makes a point of saying 'men.' He's trying to make me feel cared for...safe...while at the same time trying to restore my adult self esteem...after that fiasco I caused yesterday...this guy's pretty good."

Bobby entered the room, finding Deakins half in/out of the bathroom doorway. Deakins turned to him, "Just checking out the new digs. How're ya' feeling?"

Bobby sighed, "I'm okay." They stepped towards each other –and awkward second where neither knew what to do – until Deakins opened his arms and they gave each other a hug.

They each took a seat at the table. Deakins spoke first. "Rizzo says you've got at least two days to go in here."

Bobby nodded, "I figured as much... If only I hadn't..."

Deakins stopped him. "Bobby, nobody ever knows how they're gonna' react..it's not your fault. I'm just glad you're all right."

"I want to be back at work," Bobby sighed.

Deakins knew just how he felt. "Don't worry, you will be."

Bobby looked down at his hands; he was absent-mindedly tapping the table. "H-how's Alex's family." His eyebrows were furrowed; he didn't look the Captain in the eye.

"It was rough...at first...you know, but uh, she's from a long line of cops...they took it hard, but they're dealing with it," Deakins answered, as he saw the next question in Bobby's eyes. He saved his favorite detective the pain of asking it. "No arrangements have been made yet. I'm guessing it'll be a few days – – they have family flying in and, ummm, nothing's gonna' happen 'til you're out of here." Deakins continued, trying to put Bobby at ease, "Nobody knows you're here, Bobby...except Carver. He can keep his mouth shut. Back at the office, everybody knew you used your personal time to stay...um, here...now they're assuming you're on your bereavement time."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. There was silence. Bobby looked at his Captain, noting the telltale signs of one of his headaches. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay...woke up with a headache but, uh, your doctor gave me some Tylenol. Rizzo...he seems like an okay guy."

Bobby nodded in concurrence, as Deakins rose from the table. "I'd better get to the office...my desk is probably buried." He immediately wanted to kick himself for his poor choice of words.

"Thanks; thanks for coming," Bobby was saying, as he and Deakins exchanged a farewell hug, patting each other on the back, as Rizzo entered the room. The Captain shook the doctor's hand and thanked him as he exited.

"Your snack is here; you ready to eat?"

Bobby nodded. Rizzo brought the tray from the corridor and placed it on the table, taking a seat. Bobby joined him, all of a sudden feeling a bit embarrassed at his menu choice. Rizzo removed the lid from the tray, revealing the pile of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two containers of chocolate milk.

Rizzo tried to put him at ease. "You like grape or strawberry jelly?"

"Grape."

Rizzo reached for a sandwich wedge, "Strawberry for me. I hope you don't mind if I join you...I didn't have breakfast.

Bobby sincerely doubted that Rizzo really wanted to be partaking in his "gourmet" breakfast. He wondered what lengths the doctor was willing to go to, to earn his trust: first, undoing the restraints; then the thing with the slippers, making him feel like a kid; then the affirmation of his manhood; now this.

Bobby's perception of the doctor became slightly less jaded as he watched Rizzo reach into the deep pocket of his lab coat and produce a bottle of strawberry Quik.

The two began eating; Bobby realizing how hungry he really was. It surprised him that he could eat, at all.

Rizzo spoke: "You should be a lot more comfortable here. At least there's TV and, um, that cabinet next to the bed is full of books. I'll get you some clean pajamas – you might feel better after a shower and shave." Bobby realized he must look pretty rough around the edges.

"You mind if we talk some more?"

Bobby replied with a question of his own, "Do you treat all your patients like this?"

Rizzo sipped his Quik and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Technically, you're my patient but, um, you're not ill. I see you more as a man who suffered a severe personal loss and tragedy. You need to let yourself grieve so you can start healing. I'd like to do what I can to make that process easier for you."

Bobby remained silent, eating his sandwich. Rizzo did the same, for the moment. He was lost in thought: "I like my new semi-patient; I'm...intrigued by his history...his behavior...that head tilting...the hand gestures are almost non-stop;" Rizzo laughed to himself: "It must've really been torture for him to have those hands tied down." His thoughts continued as he watched Bobby eating: "Look at him...a six foot four inch 210 lb. peanut butter and jelly eating man/child...with a genius IQ. I've gotta get in this guy's head."

They ate in silence for a few more moments, until Rizzo asked: "So, how old were you when your mother's symptoms first presented?"

Bobby took a drink, washing down his last bite of sandwich. "I was seven. She could've been symptomatic before that, but I – – I was first only able to tell that...something was wrong...when I was seven."

Rizzo nodded, throwing a crumpled napkin on the tray before him. "I was eight...my little sister was six."

That got Bobby's attention. "So, I guess you had it rough, too, as a kid?" Bobby asked.

Rizzo nodded. "Yeah; my mother...she took her own life right before I turned 17. We went to live with my grandparents. My sister was about 24 when she became symptomatic.

Bobby looked at Rizzo, his eyes full of understanding, compassion and empathy. Rizzo's slight smile seemed to convey a "thank you." He could read Bobby's face like an open book.

Rizzo raised his bottle of Quik in a "toasting" gesture, "Good to know we're not alone!"

Bobby nodded, sipping his chocolate milk, as the memory of Nelda's voice filled his head: 'It's important to know you're not alone, Robert,' he mocked himself and thought: "Damn! Another memory to haunt me."

Rizzo stood from the table. "Well, back to work for me. Thanks for the company."

"Thank you."

Rizzo took the empty tray, "I'll stop back later. Make yourself at home.

Bobby ran the water, waiting for the hot water to make its way up the pipes. He used the toilet...opened the drawer in the vanity and discovered soap, toothpaste, a new toothbrush, shampoo. He undressed and stepped into the shower, the warmth of the water enveloping him. It felt good. His mind wandered as he began soaping himself, "Now I know what my grandmother meant...she always said that death is hardest on the people left behind..."

He emerged from the shower after 10 or 15 minutes. There had been a rechargeable wet/dry shaver in the shower – it pinched him a little, as his whiskers were too long, but it finally did the job. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist, but discovered a clean set of pajamas had been left on the bed by Dr. Rizzo or the nurse, apparently while he was in the shower. He dressed, opened the cabinet by the bed and selected a book.

Bobby flopped on the bed and began turning the pages, soon realized he was looking at the words before him, but not actually seeing them. He closed the book and, instead, grabbed a pillow and turned on his side, as he eyes became sleepy. Without even realizing it, it had begun again. He felt the tears run from the corner of his eye onto the pillow. He drifted off to sleep, asking his grandmother why she always had to be right.

Rizzo did stop back, but peered through the window to see what Bobby was doing. Rizzo looked at him—hugging pillow, fetal position, but this time with a few damp curls clinging to his forehead. Rizzo couldn't help but notice the clean-shaven cheek, "Look at that baby face...bet the ladies can't resist him," he mused. He stood at the door for another minute, just observing. The thing he hadn't told Bobby before was how his mother had killed his baby brother..four years old. She had drowned him in the bathtub during one of her "episodes." He withheld the fact on purpose. Rizzo wasn't trying to get into a pissing contest with Bobby about who had the crappier childhood. What he was trying to do was establish trust, a good rapport...and Rizzo knew it was working.

Deakins had a hectic day at the office. He was deluged with paperwork and telephone calls to return; City Hall, as usual, was breathing down his back. His headache had subsided; he had had a healthy lunch with Carver. He thought of Bobby frequently throughout the day and toyed with the idea of visiting him again on his way home. He didn't like the thought of him being alone.

His phone rang, interrupting him from his work, once again. "Deakins."

"Jimmy, Bill Kowalski at the three-eight. We caught a break."

Deakins perked up, "On Eames?"

"Yeah," Kowalski said, "When can you get here?"

Deakins was already standing, grabbing his jacket. "I'm on my way."

Enc. Chpt. 7


	8. Police Work

1

**Police Work**

Deakins' car screeched into the "Police Only" parking area in front of the three-eight. A few uniformed officers were congregated on the sidewalk having a smoke. They flashed a glance Deakins' way and, in return, Deakins flashed his badge. He bounded up the stairs, clipping the gold shield to his lapel and making his way to the desk sergeant.

"Where can I find Lt. Kowalski?"

"Third floor – the stairs are on your right."

Deakins made his way up the narrow staircase. The sounds and smells sending waves of memories rushing through his head. He had been surrounded by the modern, sterile cleanliness of One PP for so long, he had almost forgotten the gritty feel of the old station houses. He thought to himself, amused, "This place suits Kowalski to a T." Kowalski was a throwback; a real cop's cop. A former Marine, who still had his crewcut the last time Deakins' saw him; he was 3 inches taller and 30 pounds heavier than Deakins– an intimidating figure in an interrogation room. Kowalski knew all the tricks. They had graduated together, but chose different paths. Kowalski wasn't as driven for career advancement – he hated the politics of it. He'd much rather be closer to the street action – all he ever wanted to do was catch the bad guys and nobody was better at it.

Deakins reached the third floor and practically bumped into Bill Kowalski, who had just exited a small interrogation room.

"Jimmy!" he exclaimed, grabbing Deakins by the shoulders, "Good to see you!"

"Good to see you, Bill. What d'ya got?"

"Let's go to my office; I'll fill ya' in."

Deakins followed Kowalski through the maze of bustling hallways, finally making their way to his office. Deakins smiled as he surveyed the cramped quarters. It was just as messy as Bill's half of the room when they bunked together at the Academy.

"Sit down, Jimmy. Coffee?"

"Yeah, sure...black. Thanks."

"Lemme' fill ya in," Kowalski said, unable to mask his excitement. "A couple of detectives from the Mayor's Task Force are supposed to be meetin' a snitch last night at some dive in Bensonhurst...Lido's, I think."

Deakins nodded, "I know the place."

Kowalski continued, "Well, they're sittin' in a booth in the back, waitin' for their canary to show; there's a couple of hoochies in the booth across the aisle...bartender switches on the 10 o'clock news and the story comes on about Eames...I'm uh, I'm sorry, Jimmy...I know what you must be goin' through."

Deakins nodded, "Thanks, Bill...go ahead."

"So, all of sudden, the one chick goes into a panic...she's talkin' a mile a minute, whisperin' to her friend, but, ya' know, kinda' loud enough to overhear...she breaks out her cell phone and calls somebody and the cops hear her sayin' 'Did you see the news? That lady cop you shot is dead..."

Deakins' pulse quickened.

Kowalski continued. "So, the detectives, they're playin' it cool. The one starts puttin' on an act, 'I'm waitin' for somebody, they're late, they'd better show, I'm gonna' call 'im,' ya' know, that sorta' thing... then pretends their cell phone is dead...asks to borrow the phone from the girl. She hands it over, the Detective looks at the last number dialed...calls a buddy and BS's for a few seconds and gives the phone back."

A small smile crossed Deakin's lips, "quick thinking."

"Yeah...so, the Detectives leave, go back to their car and call in to have backup come and watch the two in the booth–she could be an accessory–or at least charged with obstruction. They call in and have the phone number traced." Kowalski smiled as he handed the manila folder across the desk to Deakins. "Here's your guy."

Deakins took the folder and opened it, almost not wanting to see the face, the eyes, of the person who took Alex's life. He knew the image would haunt him the rest of his days.

Kowalski watched him. He knew exactly what was going through Deakins' mind – he himself had been in the same position several times before. "Little Mikey Randazzo."

Deakins repeated, "Mikey Randazzo," as he looked at the mug shot and thumbed through the inch thick rap sheets. "We had a Jimmy Randazzo...turned up in the trunk of a Caddy a few years back."

Kowalski remembered. "Yeah, his big brother. The apples didn't fall far from this family tree, Jimmy. His grandfather did time in San Quentin...has an uncle and a cousin doing time upstate in sing-sing."

Deakins shook his head. "You pick him up yet?"

Kowalski smiled, "Yeah, him and the girl. She folded like a house o' cards...parents got her lawyered up. He's down the hall...I was waitin' for you to get here.

Deakins gave him a knowing look. Kowalski was happy to give the opportunity to his old friend; Jimmy would've done the same for him.

Deakins rose from his chair and headed for the door, "Let's step into him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby had slept for the better part of the afternoon. Talking with Dr. Rizzo, having a full stomach and a hot shower had definitely helped.

He turned on the tv and checked the time. "4:42 p.m." An instant memory hit him, bringing a smile to his face...his first real smile in days...Lewis' '70 Olds Cutlass 442 W30...he blew out the tranny in a street race when they were kids... "Man, was Lewis pissed," Bobby laughed to himself. "I wonder what ever happened to that car...that was beautiful car...Rallye Red...Hurst shifter..."

Bobby suddenly snapped back to reality. "Lewis!" He reached for the nurse's call button, panic almost setting in as he waited for someone to appear. "He doesn't know where I am...he must be trying to reach me...he musta' called the office lookin' for me, I know it...did Deakins' tell him where I am?...how'd he take the news about Alex?" A hundred questions and scenarios ran through Bobby's mind, until the door to his room finally opened. It felt like an eternity to Bobby, but less than a minute had actually passed.

It was a nurse he hadn't seen before. "Yes, Mr. Goren, can I help you?"

"I, I, n-need to make a call!"

She looked at him sympathetically, but sternly. "I'm sorry, but phone calls aren't permitted."

She could sense Bobby's growing frustration. He was becoming agitated.

"I wanna' see Dr. Rizzo," he stated firmly, but immediately become self-conscious, thinking "How seriously can she take me, after all, in these ridiculous, stethoscope-decorated pajamas?"

The nurse looked at him for a few seconds, as he paced and ran his fingers through his hair. When he pivoted and saw her still standing by the door, he gave her a look that said 'why are you still here?' It was his classic Goren look: head tilted, eyebrows knitted, nostrils flared.

He stayed back–he didn't approach her. In an instant, the thought flashed through his mind about how many 'crazies' she's probably had to deal with over the years...he didn't want to scare her.

The nurse exited. Bobby sat at the foot of the bed, letting out a sigh of relief as he heard the intercom: "Dr. Rizzo, paging Dr. Vincent Rizzo...please report to the 8th floor nurses' station."

End. Chpt. 8


	9. You've Got a Friend

1Bobby was pacing again. He didn't like the thought of Lewis being left in the dark. He thought about how Lewis must be worrying about him – and dealing with his own grief about Alex. He wondered how Lewis had found out – hopefully, not on the evening news. Ten minutes had passed and Bobby was debating if he should make a pest of himself and press the nurse's call button again. He decided to wait five more minutes. It was just then that the door to his room opened and Dr. Rizzo stepped in. Bobby didn't wait for a greeting.

"I need to use a phone," he blurted out.

Rizzo gestured with his hands, palms down, patting the air. In his usual gentle tone, he said "Calm down, Bobby."

Bobby's voice was raised, "I am calm!" he answered, his own hands in motion, as always. Rizzo looked at him – the type of look that fathers give their children when they're misbehaving.

"WHAT!" Bobby asked, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes. It made Rizzo laugh inwardly at yet another glimpse into Bobby's childlike behavior.

"Let's sit down, Bobby," the doctor said, taking Bobby by the elbow and guiding him towards the foot of the bed.

"I just want to call my friend – I need to call my friend."

Rizzo looked sympathetically at the hulking figure seated next to him. He was glad to know that Bobby had a friend – – he was going to need one.

The doctor leaned to one side, reaching into the pocket of his slacks. He produced his cell phone and held it out, for Bobby to take.

Bobby nodded as he reached for the phone, "Thank you," he said, as he flipped the phone open and dialed Lewis' number.

While he was dialing, Rizzo reminded him, "This is between us...as the nurse told you, patients aren't permitted to make phone calls...I'm making an exception in your case." Bobby knew exactly why Rizzo made the point: to make Bobby feel special – he was receiving a special favor from the doctor so, subconsciously, he would now 'owe' the doctor one.

As Lewis' number began ringing, Bobby tilted head towards Rizzo, looking him in the eyes, "I seem to remember your telling me that I wasn't exactly a patient, since I'm not ill."

Rizzo hadn't expected the comeback. He thought to himself, "Well, that's the first time I've seen the real Robert Goren – ready to trade barbs – to match wits – he must be feeling better." The doctor was amused.

"Lewis, it's me...I know, man, I'm sorry...I'm all right...Ummm, I'm not at home..."

Rizzo sat observing Bobby, listening one-sided to his conversation. He wondered how Bobby would explain his whereabouts...if he would fabricate a lie to save face...to save himself the stigma and embarrassment of his current situation.

"I'm, uh, st-still at the hospital...they admitted me...when it happened...I kinda' freaked out and umm, I'm gonna' be here for two more days. How are you, Lewis? How did you hear? ...ohhhhhh, damn, I'm sorry...umm, hold on a second - I gotta' check with the doctor."

Bobby held the phone away from his ear and looked at Rizzo. "C-can I have a visitor?"

Rizzo nodded, "Yes," instantly noticing how Bobby's face relaxed.

"Can he bring me clothes to wear?" Rizzo again nodded.

"Lewis, do me favor and swing by my apartment on your way over...I need some clothes...yeah, that's fine...just jeans and a couple of shirts...whatever you find in the closet is okay...okay, thanks, bud...WAIT! Lewis? I forgot to tell ya'...I'm on the 8th floor...in the...the psychiatric unit...nah, I'm okay...see ya' then."

Bobby handed Dr. Rizzo's phone back to him, "Thanks." Rizzo took the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, giving Bobby a quick smile.

"So," Rizzo began, "This Lewis...he must be a good friend."

Bobby nodded, "He's my best friend."

"You must trust him...he has the key to your place?"

"That's not what you meant," Bobby said, eyeing the doctor, wagging his index finger.

"No? What did I mean?"

"You meant I trust him enough to tell him the truth about where I am."

Rizzo nodded, "Well, that too," he smiled.

"Lewis and I... we've been best friends since grade school...h-he knew my m-mother...he's ummm, he's seen me at my best...and my worst."

Rizzo looked at Bobby, sincerely, "I'm glad you have such a friend. I surmised from your conversation that Lewis knew about..your partner."

Bobby nodded, letting out a sigh, "...from the news...damn it. A-Alex was his friend, too."

The doctor stood to leave, patting Bobby's shoulder as he passed by him towards the door. "I'm glad your friend is coming, Bobby."

"Hey, doc?

Rizzo looked back, over his shoulder.

"Thanks."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a media circus back at the Three-Eight. Word had gotten out that the Police had a suspect in custody – big news since this was only the second shooting death of a female officer in NYPD history. Reporters with their microphones and camera crews clogged the street and sidewalk in the front of the station, hoping to catch an exclusive on the breaking story. Mayor Bloomberg and Police Commissioner Ray Kelly were, supposedly, en route to the scene.

Inside, Deakins and Kowalski had put on a show of their own, verbally pounding their suspect into a confession with their routine of bad cop/badder cop –neither of them wanted to play the role of "good cop" – they were too pissed off. It felt like old times.

It took less than one hour and, in the end, had boiled down to the story of an attempted robbery gone bad – interrupted by the off-duty officer who had just gone to the store to pick up a few groceries on her way home after working late and came to the aid of the terrified shopkeeper.

It's what cops do.

Two uniformed officers yanked Randazzo to his feet and slapped on the cuffs. The necessary paperwork had been well underway and he was minutes away from being transported to his new home at Rikers Island. Deakins put in a call to Carver. The arraignment was scheduled for 9 o'clock the following morning.

Kowalski rested his huge arm around Deakins' shoulders as the two men walked down the hall. "It's been good workin' with ya' again, Jimmy...sorry about the circumstances, though."

Deakins nodded, "Thanks, Bill."

The noise of the commotion outside swelled – the Mayor and Commissioner had just arrived; the density of the crowd grew; the bright lights of the TV crews illuminated the street.

Kowalski turned and headed down the hall. Deakins looked perplexed and called after him, tossing his head towards the front door, "Aren't you comin'?" The big man didn't bother turning around; his voice boomed, "I'm takin' the back door, Jimmy...you can deal with the circus," he chuckled.

And that was the Kowalski that Deakins knew. He didn't need the attention. All that mattered was that the bad guy got caught.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was almost 7:00 p.m. The door to Bobby's room opened and Dr. Rizzo appeared with Lewis.

Bobby had been laying across the bed, reading. His barely-touched dinner tray sat on the table, looking even more unappetizing, now that it was cold, than when it had arrived.

Bobby rose to greet Lewis with a hug –they each tried to ignore the tears that had welled up in their eyes. Dr. Rizzo watched, thinking how genuinely happy these two friends looked to see each other. The doctor had been surprised seeing Lewis upon his arrival. It wasn't what he expected a friend of Bobby's to look like. He wasn't quite sure what to expect – he just knew that the man standing before him wasn't it.

Lewis slung the weekend bag from his shoulder and deposited it on the bed and gave a laugh, "I think I had pajamas like that when I was 5," he teased, while playfully punching Bobby's upper arm.

Rizzo kept observing, as Bobby laughed.

He unzipped the bag and began unpacking his clothes, scrutinizing some of the selections that Lewis had made for him while Lewis, in the meantime, produced a shopping bag.

"I figured the food here sucked! Oh, sorry doc!" he said with a laugh.

Bobby shook his head, smiling.

"I brought us dinner," he said, turning towards Dr. Rizzo. "You wanna' join us?"

Rizzo smiled, "No thanks...I'm used to the food here."

Lewis turned back towards Bobby, proudly announcing his menu : I stopped by V&T on the way...got your fav...chicken parm hero and the tomato and fresh mozz salad...I got a calzone."

Dr. Rizzo looked at the two men, amused. "Um, before I go, I have to ask: you don't have any alcohol in that grocery bag, do you?"

Lewis shook his head, "No." He obliged the doctor by emptying the remaining contents onto the table so Rizzo could take inventory: potato chips, two packages of Yodels and two cans of Coke.

The doctor nodded. "All right, boys, I'll leave you to your visit. Just buzz the nurse when you're ready to leave."

Bobby and Lewis said an almost simultaneous "thanks, doc" and Rizzo left, smiling.

Rizzo heard the laughter after he closed the door and was happy for Bobby. It was, after all, the best medicine.

Lewis clutched his stomach, almost doubling over with laughter. "Man, I thought you were gonna' blow it!" He was snorting his funny laugh – it made Bobby feel happier just hearing it – it hadn't changed since they were kids.

Bobby smiled as he returned to unpacking his clothes, "I almost did," he said, as he removed the 40 oz. from the protection of a rolled up tee-shirt at the bottom of the bag. Bobby carried the bottle over to the table and sat – this dinner looked good.

"I didn't bring cups...we'll have to share from the bottle," Lewis said, then looked at Bobby suspiciously. "I ain't gonna' catch anything from you, am I?" he joked.

Bobby laughed as he raised the bottle for his first swig of the icy-cold beer.

The two friends sat and ate; they talked — memories, stories – some from their childhood and teenage years, and about Alex – some brought laughter and some brought tears. The almost three hours they spent together was therapeutic for both of them. They rang for the nurse only once, asking for coffee and milk to go with their Yodels. It was almost 10 p.m.; time for Lewis to go.

"I gotta' get goin', Bobby...got an early morning tomorrow."

Bobby buzzed for the nurse and hugged Lewis, patting his back. "Thanks, Lewis."

Lewis turned back, half way out the door, "Hey, what'cha want for supper tomorrow?"

"Surprise me," he answered, happy that Lewis was coming back the next day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Lewis had gone, Bobby cleaned the table and hid the empty bottle back in his luggage. He took a shower, brushed his teeth and was looking forward to getting tucked into bed. As he laid in bed, adjusting his pillows, he turned on the TV. It immediately grabbed his attention:

Voice of reporter: "In late-breaking news tonight, Police have arrested a suspect in the shooting death of Alexandra Eames. A fifteen year veteran of the force, Ms. Eames was a detective with the City's elite Major Case Squad. She was the second female officer to be gunned down this year..."

Bobby's heart was racing; his breath came fast, gulping for air. As he tried to listen to the report, a dozen thoughts raced through his mind...who did it? when did they catch him...and when the hell did Deakins plan on telling him! He forced his attention back to the tv.

"...The accused, Michael Randazzo, is being held at Rikers Island pending his arraignment tomorrow morning...funeral services for Detective Eames have been scheduled for Saturday."

Bobby punched his pillow –repeatedly; the anger and sadness filling him up in equal parts. He collapsed on his side, tears streaming down his face. He thought after Lewis' visit that he was all cried out. He was wrong.

He tossed and turned for hours, sad for himself – for the team of Bobby and Alex that was never again to be; pissed off at Deakins for not letting him be the first to know that his partner's murderer had been caught.

It was almost 2 a.m. He couldn't sleep, so he decided to put his time to use. He pressed the nurse's call button.

"Yes, Mr. Goren, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like some paper and a pen."

"If you're having trouble sleeping, I can give you something...Dr. Rizzo said I..."

Bobby cut her off, mid sentence.

"I just want some paper and a pen. Please."

The nursed nodded, "All right...I'll be right back." She returned and Bobby practically snatched the items from her hand and sat at the table.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was about to begin one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do: writing his Eulogy for Detective Alexandra Eames.

END. Chpt. 9


	10. Hard to Say GoodBye

1**A/N: Unfortunately, I own none of the LO:CI characters. However, Dr. Vincent Rizzo and Lt. Bill Kowalski are all mine. Thanks to all who have read. Special thanks to all who take the time to review. It IS what we live for ;-) Netherfield, 08Starbaby08, Justawritier, Lina-Baggins, The X-Pig, Daiquiri and SW33tangelgrl: I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**Hard to Say Good-Bye**

Dr. Rizzo began his morning rounds, as usual, at 7:00 a.m. He peeked in the window to Bobby's room, only to find the bed empty. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the ten or so crumpled wads of paper scattered about the floor. He entered the room and found Bobby, still seated at the table, his head resting on folded forearms. The doctor stood watching, undecided if he should awaken Bobby. Rizzo looked at the pad of paper and pen laying next to Bobby's head. He saw the used Kleenex tissues dotting the table. He knew what Bobby had been doing – or attempting to do. It was evident he must have had a hard night.

Bobby stirred and became aware of someone's presence in the room. He raised his head, rubbing his eyes and stretching his sore, stiff back.

"That didn't look very comfortable."

"I was trying to write some notes... I heard **on the news** last night that the funeral is Saturday," Bobby said with a deep sigh, nostrils flaring. The sarcasm and anger in his voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You sound angry," Dr. Rizzo calmly stated.

Ignoring his comment, Bobby asked, "Has Capt. Deakins called for me?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I saw the report on the news last night, too. Heck of a way to find out...it's good that they made an arrest, though...they caught the guy," Rizzo said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Deakins should have told me – she's my partner."

Rizzo noted Bobby's use of the present, not past, tense. "I'm sure he's very busy..."

Bobby immediately cut him off, "There's no excuse."

The doctor knew a sore subject when he heard one, so he decided to shift gears. "Well, I guess you didn't get much sleep. Why don't you get into bed – get comfortable?"

Bobby looked at him and stood up from the table. "I might as well," he said, holding out his arms as if to display the mess he made on the table and floor, "I'm not getting anything done here." He sounded defeated.

Dr. Rizzo watched as Bobby walked to the bed, inwardly surprised that he got no argument to his suggestion. He was undecided if it was a good or bad thing, but ultimately decided on "good;" Bobby obviously needed the rest. Rizzo walked to the beside and pulled the blanket over Bobby as he made himself comfortable.

"Would you like something to help you sleep?" Rizzo asked.

"No, thanks," Bobby replied, his eyelids already heavy and closing from sleepiness.

"Okay, if you have trouble and change your mind, just ring the nurse."

Rizzo stood watching Bobby for a minute. He had already dozed off.

He once again surveyed the room and began picking up the wadded paper balls from the floor and placed them on the table. He was tempted to read what Bobby had written and thrown away – – He thought to himself, "What about the discarded words wasn't good enough? Maybe they'd give me a better insight to Bobby's feelings – – thoughts." Rizzo continued his contemplation: "The words would have to be perfect; Bobby would settle for nothing less, in honoring his partner."

The doctor finally decided against it. It wasn't the way he treated his patients ... "stealing" their private thoughts. It was much more challenging and satisfying to him to develop a relationship with his patients; to gain their trust, so they would voluntarily confide in him.

Rizzo left Bobby's room, closing the door softly. He stopped at the nurses' station.

"Good morning, Carla."

"Good morning, Dr. Rizzo," she smiled.

"May I have Mr. Goren's chart, please?"

She handed him the file.

"Were you on the night shift, Carla?"

"Yes, 11 to 7. I didn't quite make it out of here on time this morning though...paperwork to finish," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"I see Mr. Goren called for nurse's assistance at approximately 2:00 a.m."

"Yes. He asked for paper and pen. I umm, I asked if he was having trouble sleeping. I told him I could give him something to help, per your orders."

"He declined?"

"Yes, he seemed angry." "No..." she said, correcting herself. "That's not the right word...he was more like, impatient."

Handing back the file, Dr. Rizzo thanked her and turned towards Jennifer, the day nurse who had just come on duty.

"Jennifer, please don't let dietary disturb Mr. Goren with breakfast. We'll get him something to eat when he wakes up."

"Yes, Doctor," she smiled, as she reached for the "Do Not Disturb Patient" sign to hang on Bobby's door.

Dr. Rizzo visited the rest of his patients, finishing his rounds at almost 9:00 a.m. He returned to his office, poured a cup of coffee and sat behind his desk. Something about Bobby had been bothering him. He couldn't put his finger on it. He tried to imagine how many things Bobby must want to say about his partner. "Maybe that's the problem," Rizzo thought to himself. He had experienced the feeling himself from time to time: so much to say that you don't where to start. He sat looking at his own desk – then the idea hit him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was almost Noon when Bobby awoke. He felt disoriented at first, then remembered he had only gone to bed at around 7:30 a.m. He wondered how long he had been asleep. He stretched and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He looked at the table...the floor. The floor which was before dotted with his discarded paper balls was now clean. He looked back at the table – a reminder of his failed writing attempt – it immediately frustrated him.

He was hungry. He stood and walked to the table, remembering there was one Yodel left over from the night before. It was then that he noticed the package. Curiosity furrowed his brow, as he sat at the table and opened it, discovering a supply of expensive, heavy gauge stationery, a box containing a new Mont Blanc pen, and his wallet.

Bobby removed the top sheet of paper, which was neatly folded. He opened it and began reading:

"_Bobby _

_I know this task is a difficult one for you. Such writing will undoubtedly bring you on a journey of fond memories about your loved one; some which you will want to share with your brothers in mourning and some which you will forever hold private and dear in your heart. I picked up your discarded drafts and placed them here on the table. I did not read any of them, although I will confess to being tempted to do so. I hope you will find these writing utensils more befitting to the task at hand. My grandfather always said that having the proper tools made any job easier. I think he was right. Maybe part of your writer's block was due to the 99¢ CVS notebook and the Bic pen that my nurse provided. (Please excuse my lame attempt at humor). I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope you find the quality of these items more appropriate for recording your important words in honor of your fallen partner. Also, please excuse me for looking in your wallet, but I found what I suspected would be there. I recognized her face from the photos in the newspapers and on TV. I thought it might help to see her. Alexandra Eames was a beautiful woman. I'll stop in this afternoon to see how you're feeling. If you feel the need to talk before then, just have the nurse page me. Sincerely, Vince."_

Tears had welled up in Bobby's eyes as he read the letter. Rizzo did understand.

Bobby opened his wallet and gazed down at the picture. He had been so happy that night. He in his tux and Alex...beside him, her left arm around his waist; her right hand gently pressed against his chest, over his heart...smiling up at him. She looked so beautiful that night in her blue dress. He kissed the photo, closing his eyes, causing the accumulation of tears to roll down his cheeks.

Bobby grabbed for more tissues, blew his nose and wiped his eyes. He rang for the nurse, who appeared in less than a minute.

"Mr. Goren, I'm your nurse for today, Jennifer," she smiled.

Bobby looked at the pretty girl... 'young woman' he corrected himself. She wasn't more than 24, he guessed. "I, umm, I'd like to see Dr. Rizzo."

"I'll page him right away."

"Thank you."

The young nurse was half way out the door, but peeked back in. "Mr. Goren, are you hungry?"

"Yes,"he said, nodding affirmatively.

"I'll have the kitchen bring you something. Would you like breakfast or lunch-type food?"

"Um, br-breakfast, please."

"Okay," she smiled. "It'll be just a short wait."

Bobby grabbed the Yodel from the table and sat at the foot of the bed. Dr. Rizzo looked through the window and saw Bobby – he watched as he peeled the chocolate away from the cake – the same way all kids did when he was growing up. It brought a smile to the doctor's face as Bobby continued, unrolling the cake to reveal the white cream filling. Every glimpse that Rizzo got of Bobby's childlike behavior endeared him even more to the doctor. Rizzo wondered if Bobby would have eaten it differently had he been in the room. He decided "probably not." Not wanting to embarrass him, he waited until Bobby was done before entering the room.

Bobby glanced at Rizzo, then at the table where the gift had been left. The doctor sat on the end of the bed, next to Bobby.

Bobby was looking down at the floor. "I don't know what to say, just... thank you."

"You're welcome, Bobby."

They sat still, quiet for a moment, until Rizzo spoke softly. "I saw how you were struggling to get the right words down."

Bobby nodded in agreement, but remained silent.

"I did a little thinking about you and...what my grandfather always used to say came back to me."

Bobby tilted his head towards the doctor, waiting for him to continue, so Rizzo did.

"I was thinking about you...when you were admitted you, umm, you didn't have any jewelry, not even a watch but, umm, you were still...well, for lack of a better word, 'adorned' with things – expensive things..."

Bobby wasn't quite sure where he was going with this, so decided to remain quiet and hear him out.

"...designer suit, shirt and tie...the shoes...your leather portfolio..." Rizzo pointed at the table, "that Coach wallet...but you don't do it...surround yourself with these things because of vanity...I think you just appreciate quality, fine workmanship."

Bobby still remained quiet, listening to the doctor's evaluation of him.

"...It's how you 'treat' yourself...your own rewards for all your hard work...and I know that honoring your partner is of paramount importance to you. I just thought the right tools for the job would help you."

Bobby didn't know what to say– he wondered "how has this doctor learned so much about me in 2 days?" So, he merely said "Thanks."

Dr. Rizzo patted his back and smiled, "You're welcome. I'm glad I could help a little."

Bobby looked up at him. "I know I've asked you this before...if you treat all your patients like this...why would you go to such lengths for me?"

The doctor looked at him, shaking his head. He let out a small sigh, "I see...qualities in you, Bobby...a childlike honesty...innocence...even after all you've been through in your life, all the horrible things you must see in your line of work...I don't know...maybe I imagine you're like the way my kid brother would have been." Rizzo sighed again, deeper and longer, this time.

Bobby looked at him, question in his eyes, "You told me you had a younger sister."

Rizzo sat back down on the bed. "I had a baby brother." He chuckled, "He had a head full of curly brown hair, big brown eyes. He was four when my mother..." his voice trailed off.

Bobby looked at him. He could fill in the blanks. He knew what had happened. "I'm so sorry."

Rizzo nodded, "Thank you."

"That's why you had to become a doctor...a psychiatrist?"

Rizzo wanted to leave the subject. This wasn't supposed to be about him.

"Can I tell you something, Bobby?"

Bobby nodded, thinking the doctor was going to disclose something about himself.

"I'm not the only one who feels that way about you."

Bobby looked at him, question knitting his eyebrows together.

Rizzo continued, "Your Captain."

Bobby rolled his eyes, expelling air through his nose – gestures that seemed to say "yeah, right."

Rizzo continued, "He cares about you, Bobby. You didn't see him the night you were admitted– the worry on his face – I did. Rizzo saw the sarcastic attitude fade from Bobby's face. "When I brought them to your room – Captain Deakins and Mr. Carver – the Captain was very...tender with you. It was one of the very first observations I noted in your file."

Bobby sat, silent, thinking abut the doctor's words.

"I'm just asking you to go easy on him, Bobby. I know you were angry about being left out of the loop last night but...give him a break, okay? He's suffering the loss, too."

Bobby nodded and Rizzo once again stood to leave the room. He saw the teary look in Bobby's eyes and knew his words had hit home.

"Your food should be here soon. Maybe after you eat, you can take a shower and put on some of the clothes your friend brought you last night. Maybe you'll feel up to giving your writing another try."

Bobby nodded, "Thanks, I will."

A knock came to the door. Dr. Rizzo opened it and moved aside, letting the worker enter and place the tray on the table. After the worker left, Rizzo turned back to Bobby, pointing, "Hey, Bobby, you owe me one."

Bobby thought to himself, "I knew he was gonna' think I owed him for letting me use the phone...special privilege my ass."

"Why's that?" Bobby asked.

Rizzo smiled, "The orderlies were gonna' cut those Armani suit pantsoff ya' the night you were admitted," he chuckled, as he left and closed the door.

Bobby laughed at himself, "Wrong again about Rizzo...some 'profiler' I am."

He ate, showered and dressed. He felt better. He reminded himself that Lewis was coming back with dinner again tonight – that, too, helped his mood.

He sat at the table, looking at Alex in the photograph. He pushed the mess on the table off to the side and cleared his writing space.

He put pen to paper and somehow, this time, the words came easily.

End. Chpt. 10


	11. Grieving

1**A/N: Bobby/Alex/Deakins/Carver aren't mine :-( ...but thanks for sharing, Mr. Wolf. Rizzo and Kowalski belong to me.**

**Thanks, again, to the readers and reviewers. This is the next-to-last chapter in the longest, saddest 72 hours of Bobby's life. I don't why I enjoy torturing him with such angst – I just DO.**

**Grieving**

Deakins was harried. His meeting with the brass had lasted an hour longer than it should have and he, once again, had lost another hour of valuable time to the traffic snarls.

He rushed and just made the elevator as the doors began closing. He had mixed feelings about rushing to see Bobby; he wasn't looking forward to the ire he knew he'd be facing. He knew he should have talked to Bobby sooner; kept him abreast of things, but for the past two days he had been overwhelmed with obligations and duties – he hadn't even permitted himself the "luxury" of indulging in his own grief.

The elevator seemed to be making stops at almost every floor on his way up to the 8th. "Geez, even this ride is taking too long" he complained to himself.

Finally reaching the 8th floor, the doors opened and the Captain made his way to Dr. Rizzo's office. He was just about to knock, when the door opened.

"Captain Deakins, I was just on my way to the ward."

"Hi, Doctor. Can I see Bobby?"

"Sure, come with me," he said, as the two men headed down the hall.

"How's is doing," Deakins asked.

"He's doing well. I think I'd better warn you, though, when I spoke with Bobby this morning, he was pretty upset – – I mean, finding out on TV – – I can't say I blame him, but, we talked a bit and he was calm enough to sleep."

Deakins looked at Rizzo, confused. "You said you spoke this morning, then he was able to sleep?"

Rizzo explained, "He was up at least since 2:00 a.m. When I made my morning rounds at 7, I found him sleeping in a chair at the table. I checked his chart and spoke with the night duty nurse. She said he asked for a pen and paper at around 2 in the morning and was up, probably most of the night. He, um, he was working on the eulogy for his partner."

Deakins sighed, "It's my fault. I should've gotten here last night."

Rizzo looked at him sympathetically. "It's not your fault. I'm sure that the past couple of days have been a whirlwind; you have a lot of responsibilities; you've probably barely had time to breathe, much less grieve."

Deakins looked somberly at the doctor and nodded, rubbing his hand through his hair.

The doctor continued, "If Bobby says anything...well, you know...it's just the grief talking. Don't hold it against him. He needs you, whether he's willing to admit it, or not."

Deakins gave the doctor a half smile. Rizzo hadn't quite convinced him, but he appreciated the effort.

They reached Bobby's door and Rizzo entered, followed by the Captain.

Bobby, in the meantime, had finished his writing and was re-reading his notes, fine tuning a word here and there, but mainly trying to innoculate himself from the heart-wrenching pain of it all. He hoped that by repeating the words often enough, they would become a matter of route; that he would become immune to the sadness that welled up inside him every time he mentioned Alex's name. His plan wasn't working.

When Bobby heard the door open, he was expecting to see Lewis, bearing their dinner. He, instead, saw Dr. Rizzo with Captain Deakins in tow. Bobby felt a sudden flash of anger upon seeing his Captain, but, just as suddenly, the memory of Dr. Rizzo's words of earlier that morning came rushing back.

The Doctor had been observing Bobby from the second he entered the room. The two men's eyes connected for a split second. From the facial expressions he had just observed, Rizzo surmised the thought process that had just gone through Bobby's head. The Doctor turned towards Deakins and gave him a small smile. "I'll leave you two alone."

Deakins looked uncomfortable, unsure whether to approach Bobby, so he remained standing by the door. Bobby remained in his chair, extending his arm, gesturing towards to the empty chair across the table from him; "S-sit down, Captain."

The Captain sat, leaning forward, folded hands placed on the table. "Look, Bobby, I'm...I'm sorry..."

Bobby nodded, but remained silent, leaning forward and resting his stubbly cheek in the palm of his hand."

"I know it's no excuse, but it's just been crazy – with the arrest and the media circus. I'm sorry."

Bobby straightened himself in his chair and assumed a position much like Deakins' – hands folded, leaning forward on the table. "I dropped the ball, too – on my friend, Lewis – – he found out about Alex on TV. I felt terrible for him. He, um, he forgave me, though. He understood I was dealing with my own...things. He's a good friend."

Deakins sat quietly. He wasn't quite sure about what had just happened. Had Bobby just accepted his apology, as simply as that? No blow up? No berating? He wondered to himself if Bobby might still be under the influence of some type of sedative. He rubbed his face and let out a sigh. "I never meant to slight you, Bobby...I would never intentionally..."

Bobby raised his hand, cutting Deakins short. "It's all right, Captain. I know you wouldn't. You've always been there for us – always backed us up. I know losing her is hard for you, too."

Deakins breathed a sigh of relief. He had prepared himself for the storm, but instead got the calm. The Captain never was one to allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. The thought kept nagging him and he silently thought, "Does he really forgive me, of is he just too tired for an argument?" Then Bobby's voice snapped him back from his thoughts.

"So, how did it play out?"

Deakins shook he head, "A lucky break and some good old-fashioned Police work." The Captain continued, relaying to Bobby the whole story – how the Detectives meeting the snitch at The Lido overheard the phone call – right up through the interrogation and arrest of Randazzo. Bobby listened intently.

"So, you handled the interrogation?"

Deakins nodded, "Me and Kowalski. Bill and I go back to the Academy," he said, smiling.

"I guess it's a good thing I'm in here."

Deakins understood the meaning. "I'm not gonna' lie to ya', Bobby; I would've liked nothing better than to beat the crap outta' the guy, but there was no way in hell we were gonna' give him any ammunition for some 'police brutality' claim or some other BS. We went strictly by the book."

Bobby nodded in agreement, still inwardly wishing he'd have had 5 minutes alone in a room with Randazzo. "So, th-the detectives from the Task Force that got the lead – I'd like to talk to them when I get outta' here – to thank them."

Deakins shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't even get their names. I'll check back with Kowalski – he can let me know."

Bobby heard the door open again and looked up, smiling. Deakins, whose back was to the door, turned to find Dr. Rizzo and Lewis, with his arms full of their take-out dinner.

Deakins stood, "Well, I guess I'll get going."

Bobby stood, almost too quickly blurting out, "No, why don't you stay?" Lewis chimed in, "Yeah, stay Cap, there's plenty!"

Bobby didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room and pulled the spare chair to the table, making room for the three of them to sit. Deakins smiled as he removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

"You want some, Doc?" Lewis offered.

Rizzo smiled, "No, thanks. You guys go ahead. I think I'll save my appetite," he said with a wink towards Lewis. "They're serving the mystery meatloaf in the cafeteria today," he joked, as he left the room.

Lewis laughed, "Your doctor's a cool guy, Bobby."

The three men sat at the table; Lewis proudly unveiling this nights dinner selection: a large pepperoni and onion pizza from Rays...Bobby wondered if he knew that that was Alex's favorite...and an order of eggplant parmigiana with garlic bread and a side salad.

As Bobby and Deakins passed around the styrofoam plates and plastic utensils, Lewis unscrewed the twist-off caps from the bottles of Stewart's Root Beer. Lewis raised his bottle, with Bobby and the Captain following his lead. "To friends!" he toasted, sharing a smile with Bobby.

The three clanked their bottles together and drank; Lewis and Bobby chugging, while Deakins tasted, did a double-take of his bottle, and resumed drinking.

Lewis and Bobby laughed, while Deakins shot them a sideways glance. Bobby reached for a slice of pizza, as he explained to the Captain, "That's how Lewis and I always got drunk at the high school football games," he laughed. The dark brown bottles were the perfect disguise for the frothy ale.

They sat drinking and telling stories – mostly about high school hi-jinx and muscle cars – the way guys normally do. It was the happiest and most relaxed that Deakins had been in a while. It meant a lot to him that Bobby asked him to stay. It meant a lot to Bobby that he did.

It was going on 7 p.m. Bobby noticed as Deakins checked his watch. "I'd better get going – I didn't tell my wife I would be late."

"You can't go yet!" Lewis objected. "We didn't have dessert."

"Will your wife be angry if you stay a while longer?" Bobby asked.

Lewis, who had been clearing the mess from the table, reappeared carrying a box from Ferrara's. "Hey, Bobby, why don't you ring for that cute nurse and get us some coffee to go with these," he said, as he lifted the lid, tempting them with the delicious, freshly-baked Italian pastries.

"It'd be pretty hard to pass those up," Deakins laughed, as he took out his cell phone and began dialing home.

Bobby felt a pang of envy as he watched the Captain. He hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn't stop the thought from crossing his mind, "At least he has somebody to call."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another hour had flown by. The guys were stuffed. Lewis asked the time and, finding out it was 8 o'clock, announced, "I gotta' fly, Bobby. I told Richie I'd meet him for a few games of pool." Lewis rose from the table and headed for the door.

Bobby had gotten up and walked with him. "Tell him I said hi."

The two friends hugged, as Lewis said, "That's all I'll tell him."

"Thanks."

Lewis waved a hand at Deakins, "G'night, Cap!"

"G'night Lewis. Thanks for dinner."

Deakins stood and put on his jacket. "I guess I should be going, too." He read the look on Bobby's face: he knew he wanted "out" too. The Captain smiled, "Don't worry, you're getting sprung tomorrow. I'll come and give ya' a lift home."

Bobby shook his head, "You don't have to do that, Captain; I can grab a cab."

Deakins wouldn't hear of it, "You stay put. I'll be here."

"Thanks," Bobby said, as they hugged good-bye.

"Try to get some sleep. I heard you were up all night and, umm, the next few days are gonna' be rough."

"I'll try," Bobby said, nodding. "Thanks, Captain."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby was laying on the bed watching TV when the door opened and Dr. Rizzo entered. "Hi, Bobby."

Bobby sat up.

"I just wanted to stop in before I head home. I spoke with Captain Deakins on his way out tonight. He's gonna' be here first thing in the morning to pick you up."

Bobby's expression brightened, but he answered, "That's not 72 hours."

Rizzo smiled, "I know...technically, it's not. Your Captain can be very convincing."

Bobby laughed. He wondered what Deakins had said to the Doctor. Rizzo sat next to Bobby on the edge of the bed, "Can I talk with you for a minute?" he asked.

"Sure."

Rizzo turned his head to look at Bobby, "I want you to come back and see me."

Bobby's eyebrows furrowed. Rizzo knew the expression – he was about to get an argument, so before Bobby could speak, he said, "Just to talk – I think it would be good for you, Bobby."

Bobby's voice was low, "I'll think about it."

The Doctor stood, "Okay, fair enough. I'll see you in the morning." Rizzo left and Bobby fell back on the bed with a groaning stretch, delighting in the thought of his approaching freedom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morning hadn't come fast enough. Bobby was up, showered, shaved and dressed by 7:30. He sat watching Good Day New York and the clock, while eating a left over pastry. It was almost 8:30 when the door opened.

Rizzo smiled, "Looks like you're ready."

Bobby shot up and grabbed his bag. The Doctor stepped aside to let him through the doorway.

Rizzo put a hand on Bobby's shoulder as they walked out of the ward, down the hall. "Captain Deakins is waiting for you my office."

Deakins had been reading some of the plaques on the wall and turned, smiling, when Bobby and the Doctor entered the room.

The Doctor stepped behind his desk, "Well, gentlemen, I just need Bobby to sign this form and you can be on your way."

"What's this?" Bobby asked.

"It's just a discharge form...and a receipt for your personal belongings. Rizzo handed Bobby a bag from his credenza. "This is your shoes, portfolio and keys – you already have your wallet – your suit, shirt and tie are on a hanger behind the door."

Bobby looked at Rizzo, waiting for him to finish his accounting of items. He saw the Doctor's eyes glance towards the Captain's, and Deakins spoke up. "I took your badge and holster last night, Bobby."

Bobby shot him a "how dare you!" look, which Deakins read correctly. His nostrils flared, "That's my off-duty piece!"

Deakins spoke calmly, "Relax, Bobby. They're in your locker back at the office."

Bobby's head oscillated: Deakins-Rizzo-Deakins. He nodded a soft, "okay," wondering just how much the two had talked about him and what was said. He took the pen from his shirt and signed the form, then looked at the pen. "I almost forgot – – your pen," he said, handing it over the desk towards Rizzo.

Rizzo shook his head and patted the pocket of his lab coat. "I've got mine...that's yours," he smiled.

Bobby paused, embarrassed at the thought of accepting the expensive gift from the doctor. "Th-thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Captain," he said, extending his hand to shake. Deakins smiled and held his grip firmly, "Thank you, Doctor – for everything."

Rizzo rounded his desk. "Bobby," he extended his hand once again, "You take good care of yourself."

Bobby looked him in the eyes and nodded, "I will. Thank you for everything." Their eyes and hands locked for several seconds. In his peripheral vision, Bobby saw Deakins walk to the door to retrieve his suit from the hook on the back. He lowered his voice to less than a whisper, "I'll give you a call next week."

The Doctor smiled, answering quietly, "I'm glad."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The brightness of the morning forced Bobby to squint, but the warmth and the air felt good on his skin. It felt good to be outside: to hear the sounds of the city, the morning rush that he was so used to being a part of. They reached the parking lot and Bobby recognized the black SUV. They loaded his belongings and Deakins turned to him, "You wanna' drive?" Bobby shook his head, "No." They hopped in; as Deakins made their way out of the parking lot, Bobby pressed the overhead storage compartment and retrieved his sunglasses.

He observed as much as his eyes and ears could let him take in. He loved people-watching, and the thought immediately struck him how isolated he had felt for the past couple of days. He lowered the window even further, enjoying the breeze and the changing smells that wafted through the air from block to block as they drove past the various coffee houses, bakeries and diners.

Deakins kept glancing at his passenger, wondering what Bobby was thinking. He didn't want to press. He knew Bobby well enough to know that if he had something to say, he would say it, so Deakins continued driving, leaving Bobby to his thoughts. As they drew closer to Bobby's apartment, Deakins decided he'd better take the opportunity to tell Bobby, "The wake is today and tomorrow, 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 at Vorhees' – there's a pamphlet in the glove compartment with directions. The funeral is at 10 o'clock Saturday, at St. Patrick's."

Bobby remained silent.

Deakins was lucky enough to find a parking spot not too far from Bobby's apartment building. He shut off the engine and turned to Bobby, "Lemme' give you a hand carrying your stuff – then I'll grab a cab back to the office."

"You don't have to do that, Captain."

"It's okay. You keep the truck," he said, as he handed him the keys.

They walked to the front of his building. Bobby took the hanger and the bag that Deakins had been carrying. "I can manage from here."

Deakins nodded. "Okay, I'll umm, I'll probably see ya' tonight, then."

"Thanks, Captain."

Bobby reached his front door, juggling the items as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Once inside, he quickly deposited the items on the closest chair and surveyed his apartment. He wondered to himself, "How can it feel so good and so bad to be home?" He went to the fridge. There was nothing good. He hadn't been home to buy, cook or eat anything in almost two weeks. Any leftovers he did have were spoiled by now and had to be thrown away.

He decided that since he needed to go back downstairs to check his mailbox, that he would grab something quick to eat at the coffee shop down the block.

Bobby entered the store and, although it was somewhat later than the usual time he stopped in for breakfast, some of the "regulars" were still there. He looked around, noticing some of the familiar faces who sat there daily, with their coffee and muffins, doing the crossword puzzle in The Times. He thought to himself, "All their lives have gone on as normal...and mine..."

He didn't get to finish his thought, as the girl behind the counter cheerfully greeted him, "Hey, where 've you been?"

Bobby's voice was low; he tried to manage a smile, "I was...away for while."

Her nosiness was annoying him. He looked at her without a reply. She pointed towards him, still smiling, "No suit and tie today," she said, stating her observation.

The other girl behind the counter called, "Can I help the next person?" But, the nosey girl turned to her and said, "Don't worry, Traci, I've got this one." She smiled at Bobby, "Regular coffee, poppy seed bagel with cream cheese and a large double mocha with a raspberry Danish, right?

Bobby looked down and had to swallow hard to get the lump from his throat before he could answer, "No, just the regular coffee and the bagel."

The girl turned to make the order. Bobby stood before the counter, once again getting lost in thought. "How could something so simple, so insignificant hurt so much? ...make me feel so...alone?"

Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry. He put his sunglasses back on to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. He felt conspicuous – – and ridiculous that he couldn't stop these self-pitying thoughts and the emotions they brought to the surface. He reached into his pocket, laid $6.00 on the counter and walked out of the shop, hearing the bewildered clerk yell after him, "Sir! Your food!"

Bobby made his way back to his apartment as quickly as he could; the lump in his throat growing, the tears now running down his cheeks. He ran to the sink as the waves of nausea overtook him – the dry heaving racking his body. He splashed cold water over his face and the back of his neck and walked to his bedroom while kicking off his shoes. He laid on the bed and began thinking about the wake he would have to attend later that afternoon – facing it was going to make it real – a reality he still wasn't ready for. He began thinking, repeating in his mind, "I've gotta' get hold of myself; I have to calm down...pull myself together...I can't –won't – cause another scene..." He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.

He reached for his wallet and opened it, looking at the picture of Alex. She was never more than a phone call away – even if that call was at 3:00 a.m., she was always there for Bobby – until now. He wondered how his heart could be so full of love for her, yet feel so empty. But then realized it was because she was no longer there to love him back. He was truly alone. He clutched the photo to his aching chest as the relentless sobbing once again overtook him.

END. Chpt. 11


	12. Eulogy

1**A/N: The LO:CI crew belongs to Dick Wolf. Dr. Rizzo and Lt. Kowalski are mine. **

**As promised, this is the final chapter of "Final Breath." I want to express sincere thanks to the faithful readers of this story and special thanks to the faithful reviewers: Lina-Baggins, Justawritier; Netherfield, 08ClassicRockChicky08, Cbraithwaite, The X-Pig and Bammi1. **

**I truly had a blast writing this and "torturing" our poor Bobby. I think next time, I'll have to resurrect Alex and write something happy :-)**

**Thanks, again. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Eulogy**

Bobby had fallen asleep and woke up close to noon. He felt rested and more calm, but wondered how many more times it would take before he could wake up not asking himself if it had all been a bad dream. He had found a can of Coke at the back of the fridge. That and the handfuls of Cocoa Puffs which he ate directly from the box would have to suffice as his breakfast and lunch. He now regretted not sticking around for his bagel. He showered (his second of the day, but he needed it) and even shaved again, as his "five o'clock" shadow had appeared early, as it always seemed to do. He looked in the mirror as he rubbed some styling mousse in his hair. Remembering that Alex didn't like his hair brushed straight back, he just ran his fingers through it, letting the curls fall where they may. He remembered her saying that the stubborn curls in the front, which always seemed to fall in little ringlets on his forehead, made him look cute and boyish.

Dressed in his darkest blue suit – a Joseph Aboud which fit him perfectly – he headed for the funeral home. He was lost in thought on the drive, keeping himself composed, trying to prepare himself for the afternoon and night ahead and his first sight of Alex since he was pulled from her hospital room three days earlier. He couldn't stop himself from wondering about what organs – what pieces of her were used to save some stranger's life. It was just like her to find a way to be of service – to be useful to someone – even in death. The thought that some parts of her were still living somewhere in the City, or even across the Country, somehow gave him solace.

He realized that he was feeling a little better and had promised himself that he would be strong and hold himself together over the next few days. He would do it for Lewis and Deakins and Rizzo – he had already been enough trouble to them. He would do it for himself and for Alex. She would have hated to see him hurting so much.

"There," he thought to himself as he pulled into the parking lot, "I made it through that whole thought process and drive without a tear." He knew he was just trying to boost his own confidence. He inhaled deeply and told himself he was doing better. A dozen or so cars were scattered in the parking lot and Bobby assumed that most people would come at night, after work.

He entered the funeral home, which was beautifully decorated and immaculately kept. Soft classical music filtered through the air. He followed the sign which read, "Det. Alexandra Eames" with an arrow pointing to the right. He signed the guest book and took one of the small memorial cards, placing it in his breast pocket.

There was no mistaking his imposing figure, as he entered the doorway of the viewing room. The scent of flowers filled the air, their aromas just as beautiful as the flowers themselves. The entire perimeter of the room was lined with arrangements, three rows deep. Bobby looked up the aisle, slowly walking towards the casket centered at the head of the room. Now it was real. He was seeing it with his own eyes. It was her reddish-blond hair. It was her profile; (there was no mistaking that pixie nose), yet, an irrational voice in his head kept saying, "maybe it's not really her."

It was then that Alex's mother noticed Bobby. Bobby saw her tell her husband and the small group of people they had been talking with, "Bobby's here." She walked towards him to meet him half way in the aisle and they embraced, kissing each other's cheeks. She was petite like her daughter and the familiar motion of bending to kiss her felt comfortable.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered." "I know, Bobby, me too," she said, patting his back. She walked along side him, holding his elbow as they walked to the front of the room.

Alex's father shook his hand and pulled him into a hug; "Bobby, how are you?" he asked. "I'm okay," he lied, and Johnny Eames knew it. They turned back towards the group, as Alex's mother announced, "Everyone, this is Alex's partner, Detective Robert Goren." One by one, they shook Bobby's hand and offered their condolences on his loss.

One of the women said, "We met once before...at a Memorial Day bar-b-que." Bobby forced a smile, "Right, I thought you looked familiar." He wondered why people always tried to make small talk at times like this, but then realized it's what people have to do – life goes on for the living.

Alex's mother saw Bobby's eyes look towards the casket. She didn't know if he was ready yet to approach it, but she thought it might be a good time, before too many people began arriving. She moved next to him and gently put her hand on his arm.

"Bobby, do you want to come up with me and see our angel, or would you rather go alone?"

He thought to himself, "This is her daughter; how much pain and loss must she be feeling, and here she is, trying to comfort me." Then he wondered about what Deakins had told Alex's family. Surely they would be wondering where he's been for the past two days. He didn't want to refuse her kind offer.

"Come with me," he softly said.

They approached the casket, first standing above her, then kneeling on the padded bench. Alex's mother kept her arm around Bobby, holding tightly around his waist; a physical reminder that he wasn't alone. He felt her presence and was glad for it. He gazed down at Alex's face. She looked so peaceful and beautiful, like a sleeping angel. Bobby prayed for her soul to be at peace. He wondered if there really was an afterlife and, if so, had Alex be reunited with her husband?

The pang of jealousy that that thought evoked made him feel guilty. He made a mental note to talk to Dr. Rizzo about why it seemed he turned everything around to be about him, even at a time like this. "Could I really be so self absorbed?" Then he felt more guilty about having these thoughts run through is mind while Alex's dead body lay before him. He returned to thinking about her. He had spent so much time over the past two days thinking about her, talking to her in imaginary conversations, telling her everything he had always wanted to say. He didn't know what else could be said or prayed, so he merely knelt there, looking at her face, thinking to himself how much he loved her and how much he would miss her.

He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the moistness from his eyes. He was doing better than he expected. He again told himself that he would be able to get through this. He turned to Alex's mother with a slight nod, indicting that he was done. They rose from the bench and Bobby took her hand.

"Thanks," he whispered.

She smiled, "Bobby, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He nodded and she led him towards the side of the room, to a small, private parlor. They sat next to each other on a small sofa; still holding hands. "How are you feeling? We were worried about you."

Bobby looked at her, but hesitated to answer. He wasn't sure what, if anything, Deakins had told Alex's family, so he simply replied, "I'm all right."

She smiled, "Good. When the Captain visited that night and told us that you had been admitted to the hospital, John and I were very worried."

Bobby sat, listening silently, thinking, "Oh God, what did Deakins tell them?"

She continued, "I knew something like that would happen. I mean, we visited all the time and you were always there; not sleeping, not drinking or eating properly; you were emotionally and physically drained – – it's no wonder they had to admit you for exhaustion and dehydration."

He looked at her and smiled, while making a mental note to thank Deakins for covering for him, "I'm fine now – I know I should have listened to you and gone home to sleep and eat, but I...I couldn't leave her."

"I know, dear," she said, patting his hand, "She knew you were there...somehow, I'm sure she knew you were by her side – her partner right to the end."

Bobby nodded and dabbed his eyes again, as Alex's mother grabbed some Kleenex for herself. "You ready to go back out there?" she asked.

"Yes, thanks."

They rejoined the group of mourners who had come to pay their respects. More family, friends and neighbors, and some Officers, too.

When the afternoon viewing came to an end, Bobby sought out Alex's parents to say good-bye and let them know he'd be back later.

"Why don't you just stay with the family, Bobby? We're going up the road to a little place for dinner and to relax a bit," Johnny Eames said.

"I don't want to intrude." Bobby said.

"Don't be silly! You're family!" Alex's mother exclaimed. "You probably haven't had a decent meal today, have you?" she asked.

"How did mothers always seem to know these things?" Bobby asked himself, as he answered aloud to her, with eyes downcast, "Cocoa Puffs."

"Cocoa Puffs! What are you trying to do, end up back in the hospital?" She looked at him with admonishment, "You're coming with us."

Bobby knew better than to argue.

They walked towards the parking lot. "Do you want me to drive?" Bobby offered.

"Sure, if you don't mind. That way, I can have some wine with dinner!" Alex's dad joked.

"Oh, you!" His wife said, as she nudged him in the shoulder.

xxxxx

Aside from the time he spent with Lewis, this was the most normal Bobby had felt in a while. Alex's parents made him feel welcome, like he was part of the family. It felt good to sit down among family/friends and, suddenly, Bobby realized he was starving – everything on the menu sounded delicious. He thoroughly enjoyed his meal, and the company. These brief moments of happiness were a welcome relief from the constant aching sadness, and his thoughts drifted again, thinking to himself, "I might as well enjoy this. I'll have plenty of time to be alone later – like for the rest of my life."

After the meal, they returned for the evening viewing, which was much more crowded than the afternoon had been. Dozens of police personnel who had worked with Alex over the years, all the way back to her days in Vice, as well as Bobby's old friends from his days in Undercover Narcotics came to pay their respects. None of them knew the right words to say, but their presence spoke volumes and Alex's family and Bobby all appreciated the show of support.

Captain and Mrs. Deakins arrived and Jimmy immediately sought out Bobby, anxious to see how he was holding up.

"I'm okay," Bobby nodded and said, shaking the Captain's hand, then receiving a hug and kiss on the cheek from Mrs. Deakins. A couple of other Officers had made their way over to Bobby, so the Deakins's excused themselves to go pay their respects.

By the time 9 o'clock came, Bobby was feeling the effects of the long, emotionally trying day. Alex's parents invited him to accompany the family to a local diner for coffee and a late dessert with the family, but he declined this time, just wanting to go home and go to bed.

Bobby enjoyed the cool breeze of the evening air, as he drove. He was glad he had made it through the day, feeling a sense of accomplishment at being able to control the emotions that had been dictating his behavior of late. He pressed the "scan" button on the stereo, looking for a familiar tune to keep him company on his ride home.

_...static..._ "Don't wanna' let you go, I never can say good-bye girl..." ..._static..._

"I'm a lonely man, living in a world of dreams, I've got everything, but the one thing that I really need" ..._static..._

"Think of me; you know that I'd be with you if I could" ..._static..._

"The first time, ever I saw your face..." _...static..._

Bobby was growing increasingly angry and upset with every song. The radio continued scanning.

_...static..._"I've been used to having someone to lean on, and I'm lost, Baby I'm lost..." _...static..._

"The future's uncertain and the end is always near..." _ ...static..._

"And tell me, how do I live without you..." _...static..._

"Damn it!" He exclaimed as he slammed his hand against the on/off button, and the SUV fell into silence.

He entertained the thought of stopping by Carucci's on the way home, but came to his senses. The last thing he needed was to drink himself into oblivion. It wouldn't help matters, anyway. He would still wake up to the sobering reality of Alex being gone and would have to deal with a hangover, to boot. He decided he didn't need anything added to the headache he already had.

Bobby felt a slight gnawing in his stomach and almost wished he had gone with the Eames family for dessert, so he decided to stop and get coffee and a snack at Dunkin' Donuts. After arriving home and quickly getting undressed –– his boxers and undershirt would do –– he put the TV on, channel surfing until he found an interesting story on the Discovery Channel about the ancient Mayan Ruins and the legend of the twelve crystal skulls. He sipped his coffee, knowing that the caffeine at the late hour would be about as good for his sleep that night as the two chocolate glazed donuts would be for his waist. "I'll start working out again next week," he lied to himself, as the delicious, sweet glaze melted on his tongue.

Friday had been much the same; rising somewhat early and finding nothing in the kitchen for breakfast. He immediately dismissed the idea of going back to the coffee shop, too embarrassed to face the clerk. He, instead, opted for the other direction, heading for the nearest Starbuck's only two blocks away. He grabbed The Times and The Daily News on the walk back to the apartment and lazily flipped the pages, catching up on the latest news.

Bobby selected his darkest charcoal suit for the wake on Friday, along with the shirt and tie that Alex had given him for Christmas. Every time he wore that suit, Alex made a point of telling him how handsome he looked and how she liked the way it matched his salt and pepper hair.

Bobby hated the sting of the aftershave on his freshly-shaved skin, but laughed to himself as he imagined Alex's voice, with a typical sarcastic barb: "Oh sure! Now that I'm gone you can shave two days in a row. I knew I'd never live to see the day!" He was going to miss being teased by Alex. Even when she was trying to be sarcastic and give him a hard time about something, there was always a hint in her voice of the underlying sweetness and affection she had for Bobby.

Friday's wake services were just as crowded as the day before. They followed the same routine, going out to eat in between the afternoon and evening viewing. Lewis, who had come to the night service, accompanied Bobby and Alex's family for dessert and they sat talking over cake and coffee until almost 11:00 p.m. Bobby had also planned ahead and brought his own CD's for the ride home.

Upon arriving back at his apartment close to midnight, Bobby felt wide awake. He sat in front of the TV, while polishing his shoes, badge and the buttons on his dress uniform – another "skill" from his years in the Army.

xxxxxxx

Bobby examined himself in the full-length bedroom mirror. Like his fellow Officers, every time he put the uniform on, he stood a little straighter –prouder– adding to his air of authority (as if his 6'4" frame needed any extra help). He was supposed to meet the family at the funeral parlor at 9:00 a.m. for the start of the Police-escorted motorcade. He wanted to arrive early, to afford himself sufficient time to spend a few minutes alone with Alex, before the casket would be closed forever and loaded into the hearse for the procession to Saint Patrick's.

Bobby took a final look at Alex, said his last good-bye and fought with all his might to hold back the tears. One of the hardest parts of his day was yet to come.

The motorcade made its way through Manhattan. Thirty Police motorcycles, lights flashing, sirens blaring, lead the way, followed by the silver hearse, three cars full of the floral arrangements and the limousines carrying the Eames family, Bobby and Captain Deakins. Once on Fifth Avenue, the sidewalks became lined with Officers – New York City's Finest, as well as cops from New Jersey, Connecticut –even as far as Pennsylvania– all snapping a crisp salute to their fallen sister as the motorcade passed by.

The procession stopped in front of Saint Patrick's, where the sidewalks and steps to the Cathedral had become packed with Officers and Officials, the media, mourners, and curious onlookers. The pall bearers carried the casket up the steps, to the strains of the bagpipes of the Police Honor Guard.

Bobby had always been awed by the magnificent Cathedral; its Gothic spires stretching hundreds of feet into the gray morning sky. Inside, the tons of imported marble and the ceiling, which reaches over 300 feet high, provide an amazing acoustic environment for the organ, which houses more than 7,000 pipes. The Cathedral, which seats approximately 2,400 people was packed, save for the first few pews, which were reserved for family and City Officials.

As the procession passed through the enormous bronze doors, Bobby recalled an article he had read years before, wherein then Cardinal Spellman had said, "_At its portals, the world seems left behind and every advancing step brings Heaven nearer and deepens the soul's union with Divinity." _Bobby now understood. The meaning of the Cardinal's words had become almost palpable. Every step closer to the altar felt like a step closer to God. A feeling of comfort overtook him, as he thought of Alex being in this better place. She deserved nothing less.

Today's Funeral Mass was going to be officiated by John Cardinal O'Connor.

The Eames family, together with Bobby, Captain Deakins and Mr. Carver sat in the first pew on the left-hand side, in front of the pulpit. Across the aisle, on the right side, were Mayor Bloomberg, Police Commissioner Kelly, Chief of the Police Department, Joseph Esposito, former Mayor Rudolph Giuliani and Senator Charles Schumer.

Cardinal O'Connor began the Mass with a welcome blessing. The first musical interlude was the Ave Maria, beautifully performed by a local singer and friend of the Eames' family, Robert Bannon. The Mass continued and, in lieu of the Homily after the reading of the Gospel, the Cardinal announced, "Detective Robert Goren will now offer the Eulogy for Alexandra Eames."

All eyes were upon Bobby as he proceeded to the pulpit. He raised the microphone to suit his height and looked at the assembly before him: A sea of midnight blue, some faces he recognized and thousands he didn't, but that didn't matter. Today, like every day, they were brothers-in-arms, but today, all were here to honor his Partner.

He began: "My name is Robert Goren. I have had the honor and privilege of calling Alexandra Eames my partner for the past five years. Some of you who know me might say that that fact alone should entitle her to a medal. _(There were soft chuckles throughout the crowd). _

On behalf of the Eames family and myself, I would like to thank you all for attending today to honor our fallen sister. Your outpouring of support has been tremendous and is greatly appreciated.

Alexandra Eames was an exemplary Officer, working her way through the ranks from Patrol Officer, to the Vice Squad and, finally, to the Major Case Squad, earning the respect of her peers and superiors along the way. Her loyalty and dedication to the Department over the past fifteen years was unwavering. She performed under difficult circumstances many times, always rising to the occasion with her professionalism and compassion for the victims and families of victims we encountered.

Detective Eames comes from a long, proud line of Police Officers, including her father, John and her cousins, Daniel and Kevin. She took great satisfaction in knowing she made her family proud.

I could not have asked for a better Partner. She was always beside me; backing me up, both on the street and in Captain Deakins' office. _(That brought another chuckle from the crowd and Bobby caught a glimpse of the Captain's smile)._ But, as you Officers know, just because your Partner backs you up, doesn't necessarily mean they agree with you, and I can assure you there were plenty of times over the years that I faced the ire of my scrappy 5'3" Partner. However, at the end of the day – – every day – – I knew that she was in my corner and by my side.

I feel her loss tremendously today and I don't expect that feeling to fade in the days, or years ahead.

Alexandra Eames was an amazing, special woman. A beloved daughter, sister and aunt; a dedicated Officer who loved this City and her job. She will be sorely missed by her family and friends, of whom I am honored to count myself among.

I will be forever grateful for the time we spent as partners and friends. Not a day will go by for the remainder of my life where a memory of her does not touch me.

_(Deakins couldn't believe Bobby was actually getting through this and doing an excellent job keeping himself composed. He didn't know how Bobby had found the strength. He was so proud of him)._

In concluding, I feel that perhaps I should clarify something. Throughout this Eulogy, I've referred to Alex as my "Partner" several times, but in rethinking the meaning of the word, I realize I may have misstated her role. You see, the word "Partner" has an implied connotation; to most people, when they think of the word "Partner," they think "half" of something, and, half of something is only fifty percent, but...

_(Bobby had to swallow hard to fight the growing lump in his throat. His voice was beginning to crack, ever so slightly. He continued)_

...but to me, she was everything.

May you rest in eternal peace, my dearest friend."

He stepped down from the pulpit, walked to the center of the aisle and placed a gentle kiss on the top of the casket.

He had done it; made it through. He returned to his seat, realizing that Dr. Rizzo had been right as he thought to himself, "I could have said a thousand more things about Alex, but I'd rather hold them here, privately, in my heart."

xxxxxxxx

Six weeks had passed. Bobby had returned to work the Monday following the funeral. For the first couple of weeks, his fellow detectives tiptoed around him. He remained without a partner; Deakins didn't want to rush him and force somebody upon him and, to be honest, there wasn't exactly a bunch of people knocking down the door asking to be partnered with him. Alex's Will had been read, her bequests carried out, her property distributed and her apartment emptied and rented. Every ending was a new beginning.

Bobby spent the majority of his time as he had always done: visiting the library, reading, working too much overtime and spending too much time at Carucci's – alone. He would hang out with Lewis every now and then and every Wednesday evening was reserved for appointments with Dr. Rizzo. Sometimes, the two of them would meet for dinner, more like friends than doctor and patient, just to talk, just as Rizzo had promised. And it did make Bobby feel better.

Saturday afternoons were reserved for visits to the cemetery; first for Bobby's mother, then for Alex, always with bouquets of flowers. Bobby was particularly anxious to visit on this upcoming Saturday, because he had received notice that the new headstone was finished and in place.

xxxxxxxx

Bobby sat in Deakins' office as the two men reviewed the facts of Bobby's latest case and bounced ideas off each other. Deakins wondered if enough time had passed by now and decided to broach the topic of "partners" with Bobby.

"Bobby, I see the overtime you've been putting in. You think you're ready for some help on these cases?" Deakins asked, with his guard up.

Bobby scowled, "I'm not working that much," he protested.

"Well, just promise me, Bobby, if things start to be too much, if you feel overwhelmed, let me know and I'll see what I can do."

Bobby totally ignored Deakins' statement and continued reviewing the facts of the case at hand.

They were interrupted by the Captain's phone. Deakins pressed the "speaker" button and answered:

"Deakins."

"Hey, Jimmy, how ya' doin'?"

"Bill, I'm good. How 'bout you?"

"I've been meaning to get back to you, Jimmy...sorry...I've been swamped."

"That's okay Bill, I know how it is."

"Anyway, you wanted to know the names of the two Task Force Detectives who got the lead on the Eames case."

Deakins bolted upright and grabbed a pen. "Yeah, Bill, go ahead. I have Detective Goren here in my office."

"Okay, it was a Detective Peter Grimaldi. He, umm, he just left the Department a couple of weeks ago, Jimmy – – took a job with the DEA."

Deakins was scribbling notes. "Okay, and the other?"

"That was a Detective Lyn Bishop."

Deakins and Bobby looked at each other, speechless with surprise ...and an eerie feeling.

"Lyn Bishop?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I know her. She spent a few months here at Major Case a while back," Deakins explained.

"Well, she must have liked it. My info says she put in for a transfer – she wants out of the Task Force."

"Thanks for the information, Bill. I appreciate it."

Nothing further was spoken. It didn't have to be. Bobby could see the wheels spinning in Deakins' head. The feeling in his gut told him that he would soon have a new old partner.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was a beautiful afternoon. Bobby arrived at the cemetery and made his way to Alex's resting place. He stood, holding a huge armful of flowers, admiring the workmanship on the sparkling new granite before him. He softly read aloud to himself:

"Alexandra Eames

Beloved daughter, sister and aunt.

1966 - 2005

NYPD

Honorable Servant

Irreplaceable Partner

1990 - 2005"

Bobby looked to the right, reading the headstone of Alex's late husband. Just as he suspected, she was laid to rest, side by side with him, for eternity.

He looked to the left of Alex's grave, assessing the newest addition to the small plot of land:

"Robert O. Goren

1960 - "

There would be many years ahead for Detective Robert Goren. He wasn't in a rush to write his epitaph.

THE END

**Musical credits**:

The Jackson 5 - Never Can Say Goodbye

France Joli - Come to Me

Todd Rundgren - Think of Me

Robert Flack - The First Time (Ever I Saw Your Face)

The Chi-Lites - Have You Seen Her?

The Doors - Roadhouse Blues

Leann Rimes - How Do I Live Without You


End file.
